


Kind Of The Same Way

by trinipedia



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: AU, Challenge Response, Community: au_bigbang, Fanfiction, M/M, Slash, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-30
Updated: 2010-06-30
Packaged: 2018-09-15 12:11:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9234470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinipedia/pseuds/trinipedia
Summary: When Clay Miller, the US President, goes into a coma, Jared Padalecki, a sweet-natured and caring Temp Agency operator who by a staggering coincidence looks exactly like the President, finds himself stuck in the role indefinitely. The corrupt and manipulative Chief of Staff, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, plans to use Jared to elevate himself to the White House, but he doesn't count on Jared enjoying himself in office, using his luck and friends to make the country a better place and falling in love with the President's personal assistant, Jensen Ackles.





	1. First Chapter

**Author's Note:**

> **Amazingly Amazing Artist:** [](http://inanna-maat.livejournal.com/profile)[inanna_maat](http://inanna-maat.livejournal.com/) [AWESOME ART MASTERPOST](http://inanna-maat.livejournal.com/71929.html)
> 
>  **Beta:** [](http://free-pirate.livejournal.com/profile)[free_pirate](http://free-pirate.livejournal.com/) who saved my ass.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Not mine in any way, shape or form. Based on the movie "Dave", so if there's anything you think you recognize, I probably didn't write it. Written for the [](http://au-bigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[au_bigbang](http://au-bigbang.livejournal.com/) challenge.  
>   
> 

 

  


 

 

  
  
**First Chapter**  
  
"Welcome home, Mr. President!" one of the reporters crowding the White House's courtyard shouts, and the tall man with brown, floppy hair turns briefly towards her, smiling so brightly his dimples show.  
  
"It's good to be home," he answers as he walks through the flashes of cameras, pulling at his two dogs' leashes and looking at them with fondness in his hazel eyes.  
A few steps behind him, an almost equally tall blonde man dressed in a blue suit follows with quick steps, smiling too, even if his smile is less enticing than the other man's.  
  
They walk inside, their feet silent on the soft red carpet, and enter the mansion. As soon as they're out of sight, the tall man makes a small, annoyed noise and throws the leashes (and the dogs) to one of the security guards standing on his side. "Take them away," he hisses. "Their stink will remain on my clothes if they stay close to me too long."  
  
The man bows slightly before complying. “Of course, President Miller."  
  
The blonde man narrows his eyes at him, but then just clenches his jaw and steps away in the opposite direction President Miller takes, followed by the rest of the group.  
  
"What do you have for me?" the President asks the person standing at his right side, who is quite built, just as the blonde guy asks the woman next to him who he’s seeing first that morning.  
  
President Miller crosses one door after the other, followed closely by the intimidating-looking man reading him his schedule and another person, slightly shorter, who's wearing a bowtie and is trying to convince him to take part to a conference call with Syria.  
  
All of his attention is taken away as soon as he enters the hall and sees her. "Welcome home, Mr. President" she says, in a thick, low voice "I'm your new secretary, Genevieve Cortese."  
  
He can feel the hair on his arms stand up. _Fuck yeah._  
  
"...and the Legal Counsel speech at the Monroe tomorrow," the bowtie guy is saying.  
President Miller throws him a glare.  
  
"The-the Monroe Hotel, sir." The man swallows hard, and the President rolls his eyes.  
  
"Well, you better have someone to double for me," he states, still undressing the young, dark haired secretary with an intense stare that the girl shamelessly returns.  
  
"We're working on it, sir," bowtie guy says.  
  
"Good. Try to find someone who look like me this time, will you? That last guy was a joke," the President adds, as the girl licks her lips provocatively.  
Bowtie guy cringes at the image, while the President walks past them and into his office.  
  
Behind him, the secretary slides on her chair with a dreamy sigh.  


 

 

  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, here he is!" the man announces with his megaphone as the people approaches the boot in the center of the showroom, "the President of the United States!"  
  
A couple of trumpets start playing the National Anthem, as a stars and stripes curtain opens and a guy comes out, riding a pig.  
  
Everyone stares, shocked, at the floppy brown hair, the hazel eyes and the dimpled cheeks of the man dismounting the farm animal with both his thumbs up. "God bless you!" he exclaims, waving excitedly.  
  
"Thank you!"  
  
"Welcome to Durenberger's, Mr. President," the man with the megaphone greets him, and the _President_ grins widely at him.  
  
"Thank you, one and all!" he says. "Let me just say, from one chief executive to another" he states with a serious tone "that there is no Chevrolet like Durenberger's Community Chevrolet."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. President!" the man with the megaphone, probably Mr. Durenberger, exclaims, clapping enthusiastically as the rest of the people follow.  
  
A girl arches an eyebrow, confused. "That's not really the President, is it?" she asks her mother, who snorts but keeps clapping.  
  
"I sure hope not."  
  
"I have the feeling," the _President_ goes on, "that when people find out about the $500 cash rebate on all Geo Storms and Geo Storms convertibles, you'll be even busier than I am."  
  
As the man keeps talking, a couple of men dressed in black suits silently approach the back of the conglomeration. One of them is tall, built like a brick house and with no hair. His skin his dark and his eyes are intense as they focus on the man on the stage.  
  
He throws a glance at his partner, and the other nods in approval.  


 

 

  
  
"See, I could veto this Simpson-Gardner thing if I wanted to, but I don't want to. Do you know why I don't want to?" President Miller sounds quite annoyed and frustrated.  
  
"It's got homeless shelters, Head Start centers and hot lunches for little kiddies, dammit!" he exclaims slamming his fist on the table and making his counselors jump in their chairs.  
  
"If I kill it, I'm going to look like a prick." He adds, "And I most definitely don't want to look like a prick. I want _you_ to look like pricks."  
  
One of the old counselors clears his throat. "But sir, we, uh, tried to kill it. Twice. It just-"  
  
"I don't think so, Eric, no. Because if you'd killed it, it would be dead." Bowtie guy swallows as he plays nervously with a pencil.  
  
"When I kill something, it always dies," the President hisses. "Doesn't it, Jeff?" he asks his right hand man, who smirks.  
  
"Always does, Clay."  
  
"Mr. President, with all the work your-Jensen does with the homeless--" another man hazards, but the President interrupts him.  
  
" _My_ Jensen?" he inquires with an ironic chuckle. "Whatever. Robert, I don't want you to do this because you're forced to: I want you to do this because you _want_ to."  
  
As he talks, he stands up and circles the table until he's right next to the man, towering above him. "I want you to do it because it's the right thing to do. Because you're acting in the best interest of your country," he whispers, and the man almost shrinks in his chair.  
  
The President grins and pats his shoulder, stepping back and leaving the room, not without slamming the door behind him.  
  
Jeff stands up too, and rubs his hands together. "Well, I think that's it," he states cheerfully, following the President and leaving the counselors to look at each other with equally confused and worried expressions.  


 

 

  
  
Whistling, the young man drives his bicycle up to a curb where he gets off and pushes it through a glass door. On it there's a sign saying _Jared Padalecki's Temps_.  
  
A lithe woman with long brown hair is sitting behind her desk, and the man marches triumphantly towards her.  
  
"Ask me how I did?"  
  
She shakes her head affectionately. "How'd it go?" she asks obediently.  
  
"I _killed_ them!" he exclaims, waving his hands in the air excitedly, "it was _so_ great, Sandy, I just-"  
  
The girl lifts a hand, shutting him up.  
  
"Since you're in such a good mood, Jay, see what you can do in there" she says, nodding towards a couple of women sitting in the plastic chairs of the waiting room.  
The guy's attention immediately shifts and he offers them a warm, kind smile.  
  
"How are you, Alona? Hi, Katie."  
  
"Alona says it's too far on the bus, Katie's boss tried to hit on her again and Samantha has been in your office crying for almost an hour," Sandy explains.  
  
Jared's expression turns concerned as he walks in and gets an armful of weeping middle-aged woman.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, Sam! What happened?"  
  
"It's-it's not my fault, Jared!" Samantha answers, in between sobs "I learned on the IBM, okay? Then they put me on the Wang! I can't understand that damn machine, really, I can't!"  
  
As a new wave of tears starts, Jared squeezes her shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll think of something," he says reassuringly. Samantha keeps whimpering and sobbing, as Jared opens a drawer and gets a small envelope out of it.  
  
"It's gonna be fine. We're gonna fix it, Sam." He takes her arm and pulls her along. "Sandy, call Murray. Tell him we're on our way, okay?" he instructs and Sandy's eyes get wide.  
  
"Why I-can't _you_ call him? He's _your_ friend! I don't want to-"  
  
Jared arches an eyebrow, nodding rapidly towards the still crying Samantha, and Sandy sighs.  
  
"Fine," she mutters, grabbing the receiver and smashing the keys as if she was trying to punish the phone.  
  
"It's Wednesday," Jared chimes as he leaves the office, "and _everybody_ works on Wednesday." As he opens his mouth to ask, Sandy has already thrown him the keys of her car, a resigned expression on her face.  
  
Jared beams at her, and Sandy can't help returning the smile.  
  
Damn kid.  


 

 

  
  
Behind the doors of the Murray C.M. Accountancy Corporation, the same old scene repeats itself.  
  
"Don't cry, Sam," Jared is saying, petting the woman's head lightly, as a guy with blond, spiky hair rolls his squinty eyes.  
  
"Jared, I can't hire anybody else. I can't, and you know it. My company is not going _that_ well."  
  
Jared offers him his best puppy eyes. "Murray, she _flies_ on an IBM," he explains, but the guy simply huffs.  
  
"Will you stop using my surname to talk to me? We know each other since we were five, when are you going to start calling me Chad?" he retaliates.  
  
"Never. I don't want people to think we're too close, it would damage my reputation," Jared answers, before going back to pleading Samantha's case. "Please, man! She-“  
  
"I don't even have enough work for the people you already gave me!" Chad protests, but Jared is not giving up.  
  
"She's got three kids. Her husband's a diabetic." Samantha nods fervently, as she blows her nose.  
  
Chad glares at Jared, who grabs his arm. "She only needs a short-term thing. Just a straight temp job. Come on, Murray." He grabs Chad's hand and pushes something into it.  
  
Chad looks down and his eyes go wide. "Aren't these-"  
  
Jared nods. "Two tickets to the basketball game. The ones I had to buy six months ago and you didn't find. They're yours, just-give Sam a job. Please."  
  
Chad stares alternatively at Jared and the tickets in his hands, then his gaze softens.  
"I'll see what I can do," he says, and puts the tickets back in Jared's pocket. "And keep these, I could never live with myself if I accepted them in exchange for a good deed."  
  
Jared grins at him and gives him a loud pat on the back. "Thanks! You're the man, Murray."  
  
Chad rolls his eyes again. "Yeah, yeah."  
  
Jared arches an eyebrow. "Do you feel okay about this?" he asks, jokingly, and Chad punches his arm.  
  
"Wanna go play some ball?" Jared asks, bouncing on his heels, back to his cheery self, and Chad glares at him.  
  
"It's the middle of the day, Jared. I am _working_."  
  
"Could have fooled me," Jared mutters, then sprints away, avoiding the kick Chad has aimed at his ass and laughing out loud.  
  
As soon as he's alone, Chad smiles.  
  
Stupid fucker and his good heart.  
  
Sooner or later, that'll cause him trouble, he's dead sure of it.  


 

 

  
  
"Can't read my, can't read my, no, he can't read my poker faaace..." Jared sings at the top of his lungs as he pedals towards his house, ignoring a couple of kids playing ball in the street asking him to stop wailing or their ears will start bleeding.  
  
"I'll get him hot, show him what I got," he mumbles as he gets off the bicycle and carries it inside. "I won’t tell you that I love you, kiss or hug you, cause I’m bluffin’ with my muffin: I’m not lying I’m just stunnin’, with my love-glue-"  
  
"Mr. Padalecki?"  
  
Jared shrieks and jumps back, when a low threatening voice calls him. He lifts his eyes and sees two men in a sharp suit standing in the center of his living room; the taller one opens the lapels of his jacket, and Jared can see his gun.  
  
"I'm Charles Malik of the United States Secret Service," the man says, showing him his badge. "We're with the federal government."  
  
Jared instantly lifts his hands up in surrender. "I swear I thought that was a legitimate deduction," he murmurs, his head hanging low. "See, I do impersonations, so I use that TV for my work, and-"  
  
Charles shakes his head, slowly. "Mr. Padalecki, we're not here about your taxes." The other man makes a sound between a snort and a cough. Charles glares at him before continuing.  
  
"On occasion, for security purposes, the secret service hires someone to double for the President at public functions and exposed situations."  
  
Jared blinks, evidently not following, and Charles sighs. "Your government needs your help," he adds, and Jared's jaw drops.  
  
"Come-come again?"  


 

 

  
  
"There you go," the barber states, patting Jared's neck "I like it. You look just like him, now."  
  
Jared looks at his reflection and has trouble believing the person staring back at him it's not President Clay Miller. His sideburns have been cut and his bangs have been leveled so that now his haircut is exactly the same as the President's.  
  
Jared pulls at a lock of his brown, floppy hair. "Are you sure they have to be this short?" he asks, doubtful, and the man grins.  
  
"It's a perfect match."  
  
"Doesn't it have to come over the ears?" Jared inquires further, but before the barber can answer a hand as hard as steel squeezes his arm.  
  
Hiding a whimper Jared turns his head and finds Jeff standing next to him. "You understand what you'll be doing?" he asks, coldly.  
  
Jared nods. "Yeah, you-you just want me to wave."  
  
Jeff narrows his eyes. "Wave from the door, come down the stairs and get into the limo."  
  
After he's done talking Jeff turns as if to walk away, but Jared stops him. "You know, if you want me to do other stuff, I can. In fact, if you want me to talk-"  
  
Jeff throws him a sharp glance. "Don't say a word."  
  
Jared swallows hard. "Yeah. Ok."  


 

 

  
  
"We need standardized parole criteria that will guarantee a prisoner will not be returned to the street until he has paid his debt to society." Jared stares at President Miller's speech, which is being broadcasted through an internal circuit. The man has such charisma, such a hold on people, and Jared is in awe.  
  
He is asking himself how he’s going to be able to pull it off, actually.  
  
As the President goes on, Jared mimics his gestures and movements, his eyes focused on the screen. "We need a judiciary that is sensitive to the needs of the average American, because that's what we were founded on."  
  
Jared is still muttering the words when Charles knocks on the door. "Let's go," it's all he says, but Jared's already standing in his black tux, as he turns off the TV. He feels like he's about to go to Prom.  
  
"He's here," Charles mutters in his earpiece, and Jared's body stiffens. He's about to meet-  
  
The doors open, and the President of the United States Clay Miller enters the room.  
He's chatting with his men about how enthusiastic the audience was, then he sees Jared and freezes in place.  
  
"Jesus Christ," he murmurs, slowly stepping closer.  
  
Jared fidgets nervously as President Miller examines him from every possible angle until he nods, satisfied.  
  
"You're a very handsome man," the President says, and Jared feels his cheeks burn.  
He's not used to flattery and compliments, especially not about his appearances. He has never taken much care of himself.  
  
"Tha-thank you, Mr. President," Jared stutters, smiling shyly at him, but then the President frowns.  
  
"Just-get rid of that stupid grin, will you? You look like a schmuck."  
  
Jared deflates, as President Miller gives his approval to Jeff and bowtie guy. "Wish me luck and call me if there's a war," he adds, elbowing Jeff and giving him a wink before disappearing through the back door.  
  
Bowtie guy makes a deep sigh.  
  
"Move him out," he instructs, and Charles nudges Jared.  
  
"You're on."  


 

 

  
  
Everything goes without a hitch: the group formed by Jared, bowtie guy, Jeff, the security guards and the rest of the executives that move everywhere with the President walk through the hotel, the kitchen and countless halls, until they are finally in the lobby.  
  
Jared walks by all the clapping lawyers and supporters who were at the President’s speech and the few photographers snapping picture after picture, as he waves and smiles and, when he reaches the door, he can’t stop himself.  
  
He turns and walks a few steps back to the center of the corridor, lifts both his thumbs up and exclaims "God bless you! God bless America!"  
  
A roaring applause accompanies his words, and Jared beams, happier than he has ever been. As he's about to enter the limo he opens his mouth to thank everyone for their unrelenting support, but he's pulled inside and doesn't have the time.  
  
The limo leaves the parking lot, followed and preceded by police and security, as Jared keeps laughing and clapping and being generally euphoric. On the other side of the limo, with a stone expression, sits Charles, who simply stares at him.  
  
Jared shrugs. "I know, I know, I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry. I just couldn't help it, you know? I got carried away," he explains, a little ashamed, but gets no response from Charles.  
  
He sighs and undoes his tie.  
  
"Man, something very important must be going on for the President to go through all this," he murmurs, trying to imagine what sort of top secret mission the President could be involved in as Jared's comfortably seated in his limo.  


 

 

  
  
"Oh, yeah," Genevieve moans, "harder."  
  
Clay growls in acknowledgement, and rolls them over, in order to be able to thrust inside his new secretary's willing body at his own pace.  
  
Genevieve thrashes her head on the pillows, thrusting back, letting out small, broken whimpers that Clay drinks from her lips, grinning smugly. The sudden ache behind his temples catches him by surprise, and so does the way everything goes black just before he comes.  
  
It takes a handful of seconds for Genevieve to realize Clay is not _moving_ anymore.  
  
"Baby?" she whispers, in a trembling voice still laced with lust.  
  
No answer.  
  
"Hon?" she tries again, cradling his head against her shoulder, shaking him a little.  
When Clay still doesn't move, Genevieve clears her throat. "Mr. President?" she calls out, louder, starting to get nervous, and finally gets that something it's _not_ right.  


 

 

  
  
"It doesn't look very good," bowtie guy explains to Jeff with a concerned expression, pacing back and forth. "The doctor said it hit both sides of his brain. If he makes it, he'll be a vegetable."  
  
Jeff glares at Genevieve's bedroom as if it's the culprit of everything going wrong in the world. "I can't _believe_ he'd do this," he hisses.  
  
"I know," bowtie guy echoes.  
  
"I mean, come on! Have you _seen_ the girl? She looks like a Pekinese, for God's sake!"  
  
"Yeah, I mean-what?" bowtie guy arches an eyebrow, and Jeff has the decency of looking elsewhere.  
  
"Anyway, where is she, Gabe?" he asks, and bowtie guy grimaces.  
"She's a little-upset right now," he answers. "We have her upstairs."  
  
Jeff groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is a freaking _nightmare_ , that's what it is!" he exclaims.  
  
Gabe shakes his head. "Well, Jeff, at some point we'll have to call the Vice-President, you know, so that-"  
  
"No! Don't call him" Jeff snaps, and Gabe blinks.  
  
"Wha-Jeff, the guy's in a _coma_!"  
  
Jeff narrows his eyes. "I don't give a shit. This is mine, Gabe. All _mine_. I made Clay, I _built_ him! And no Boy Scout is going to come in here and take it away from me just because he happens to be the Vice-President of the United States."  
  
Gabe opens his mouth to say something, anything to stop this insanity, but Jeff's expression is downright scary, so he simply steps back as the man walks up to the paramedics to make arrangements.  
  
Gabe sighs. No matter how badly Jeff wants power, he really doesn't see how he can pull it off, this time.  


 

 

img src="http://i39.photobucket.com/albums/e187/marty_rurulove/KOTSW/kotsw_div3.jpg" alt="" />

  
  
All the cars and the police accompanying the President's limo keep going towards the White House, but the limo itself takes another route.  
  
Inside, Jared has just buckled up his usual brown pants and he's starting to button his flannel shirt when the phone rings. Charles frowns and picks it up.  
  
"Yeah? Oh, Sir. Of course, we are...what?"  
  
Jared's hands falter on the button as he sees Charles' expression change.  
  
"What?!" Jared asks, nervously, but Charles simply lowers the handset and turns towards the driver.  
  
"Back to the cottage," he says.  
  
Jared is about to question it, but the limo does an abrupt U-turn and speeds up.  


 

 

  
  
"We'll start by going on TV," Jeff states as they walk quickly down the hall, along with the medical team and the unconscious President. "We'll admit he had a stroke, but we'll say it was a _mild_ one."  
  
"A _mild_ one?!" Gabe squeaks, but Jeff just goes on, ignoring his comment.  
  
"-so, he ought to be up and around again sometime soon."  
  
" _Up_ and _around_?!"  
  
Jeff huffs. "Is there an echo down here?"  


 

 

  
  
Jared is curled on the giant seat in the limo, a little weirded out by the whole unplanned situation. "I'm not scared," he says to Charles, who hasn't stopped staring at him during the whole way.  
  
"I mean it, I'm not! I've been cooperative and everything, I'd just like to know where we're going." His voice is a little shaky, but Jared is pretty proud of the way he keeps it controlled.  
  
Charles doesn't answer, as expected, so Jared sighs and looks out of the window.  
"Yikes!" he exclaims when he sees the outlines of the White House in between the trees. " _That_ is the _Cottage_?!"  
  
Charles stays silent, but Jared swears he has seen the corner of his mouth twitch.  


 

 

  
  
"Hi, I'm Gabe Tigerman, White House communications director," Gabe introduces himself, as Jared sits right in the middle of the President's office.  
  
"This is Jeff Morgan, our chief of staff. We met at the hotel tonight, remember?"  
  
Jared swallows noisily and nods, unable to formulate a complete sentence, as he fidgets with the cuffs of his grey sweater. He's so pale that Gabe is actually afraid he might pass out.  
  
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks, but Jared shakes his head, still mute.  
"You sure? I mean, you can have your pick. Coke, mineral water..."  
  
"I'm fine," Jared croaks, then clears his throat, nervously.  
  
Gabe sighs.  
  
"Listen, Jared, something has come up and I think we need to talk about it."  
  
Jared can feel the dread extending through his chest. "I-I'm so sorry!" he exclaims. "I know I wasn't supposed to talk, but I saw the crowd, and I got excited, and-"  
  
Gabe snorts. "Oh! Oh, no, we're not upset with you. At all! We think you did a terrific job, man." He stands and walks up to Jared, patting his shoulder, as Jared releases a breath he wasn't even aware of holding.  
  
"In fact..." Gabe glances at Jeff, who gives him a curt nod.  
"In fact, we think you did such a good job that we would like to- _extend_ things a little."  
  
Jared blinks. "Extend things?" he repeats, confused.  
  
Gabe sighs again. "The reason we invited you here tonight is because...something has happened to the President."  
  
Jared gasps. "Oh my God" he murmurs, shocked, and Gabe just shrugs.  
  
"Yeah, I know. It's difficult for all of us, but sometimes we need to put our personal feelings aside and focus on the good of the country."  
  
Jared starts to see where this is going, and just as it left, the dread feeling is back.  
He ignores it, though. "What happened?" he inquires.  
  
Gabe makes a face, as he crosses his arms on his chest. "It's actually kind of serious, Jared. I'm afraid the President is not in a very good shape."  
  
Jared grips the chair. "Will he be all right?"  
  
"Of course!" Gabe answers, a little too quickly for Jared's taste. Jared arches an eyebrow and Gabe deflates.  
  
"...probably."  
  
"We think so," Jeff chimes in, and even if Jared doesn't believe a single word, he nods. Gabe takes a step back.  
  
"You see, Jared, sometimes we need our friends and even our enemies to feel... _safe_ and _secure_ ," he says. "We need them to feel like they can go to bed at night, knowing that President Clay Miller is fully in control. We need them to feel like..."  
  
Oh, _fuck_. Jared doesn't even let him finish. He springs out of the chair, his eyes wide.  
  
"Now wait a _minute_ ," he starts, already shaking his head furiously and stepping back towards the door, "wait a- _no_. What about the Vice-President?"  
  
Gabe looks at Jeff, and the man narrows his eyes. "We didn't want to have to tell you this, Jared, but... the Vice-President is mentally unbalanced."  
  
Gabe makes a double turn, his mouth agape, but he doesn't say anything. Jared gasps. "Afraid so," Jeff adds. "He’s certifiable."  
  
Jared covers his mouth with a hand, going back to sit on one of the sofas because his knees are not sustaining him anymore.  
  
"How much do you usually get paid?" Jeff asks, and it takes a moment for the question to actually reach Jared's fuzzy brain.  
  
"I-I don't know, I-depends, I guess," he answers, stuttering, in the end, still trying to process that these men want him to impersonate the President _for real_. "Is this even _legal_?" he questions, suddenly.  
  
Gabe looks taken aback by the question, but then sits next to him. "Have you ever driven through a red light, on an empty road when there's nobody around and you know it's safe?" he retorts.  
  
Jared frowns. "I'm not sure. I might have."  
  
"Well," Gabe goes on, as Jeff sits on Jared's other side. "Let's say your mother is in the car, and you have to get her to the hospital. You'd do it then for sure, right?"  
  
Jared swallows. "Yes, I-I guess I would," he answers, not sure about the point of this whole metaphor.  
  
Gabe grins. "And now, let's say that the whole country is in the car. The entire United States of America."  
  
Jared sighs. "I see what you mean," he admits.  
  
"The country is sick," Jeff concludes, clasping his shoulder. "You're going to get it to the hospital."  
  
And really, what's Jared supposed to say to that?  


 

 

  
  
"These are the private quarters," Jeff explains as they cross a hall.  
  
"The President's bedroom is there, over the right, and his personal assistant's is on the opposite side."  
  
"Personal assistant?" Jared asks, curious.  
  
"Oh, don't worry, you won't even see him," Gabe says. "They barely talk anymore."  
  
Jared frowns. "You're kidding! Why would that be? I mean, how can he be the President's personal assistant and not talk to him?!"  
  
Jeff shrugs. "It happens. Guy's good at what he does; it's the only reason why he's still around."  


 

 

  
  
"We'll come to get you first thing in the morning," Jeff says, closing the door behind him.  
  
"Good night, Mr. President."  
  
As soon as Jared is alone he drops on the bed, exhausted. It's long enough for all of him to fit, something that it's very uncommon, and he sighs in contentment.  
  
Then he sits back up, staring at the amazing view outside his window for a moment, before grabbing the phone. "Yes, Mr. President?" a voice answers, and Jared almost drops the handset in surprise.  
  
"Nothing. Goodnight!" he rushes out, hanging up and staring at the phone as if it was an alien.  
  
There's a picture of the President on the bedside table, and Jared stares at it; then he stands and walks over to the mirror on the wall.  
  
"Nothing" he repeats, his voice a little lower, his tone a little firmer "goodnight." He looks so similar to the real President, but he feels nothing like him.  


 

 

  
  
_"At 10:45 last night President Miller, coming home from giving a speech to the Legal Counsel, suffered a minor circulatory problem of the head. Reports that he had suffered a severe stroke are erroneous. Doctors assured that he should be back to his normal schedule soon. Now, let me stress again that this is a **minor** medical problem: the President has complete use of his faculties and retains full executive authority."_  
  
Jeff stares at the TV broadcasting of their communicate with a sly grin in place, while Gabe is laying on the couch, a bag of ice against his forehead.  
  
"Do you know how many different kinds of laws we've broken?" Gabe whines. Jeff's grin widens.  
  
"It's so simple, Gabe. It will only take a couple of weeks, tops: we send the Vice-President to Africa, or something. While he's away, we dig up some dirt on him and then force him to resign while we get _our_ president to nominate a new one."  
  
Gabe glares at him as he slowly sits up. "You mean that we're going to get Jared to nominate _you_ as Vice-President?" he asks, not really expecting an answer.  
Jeff glares back.  
  
"I was a senator, after all. Remember?"  
  
Gabe gapes at him.  
  
"Oh, sure. And when our poor president has another stroke, this time much more serious, our newly appointed VP becomes...jeez. You're insane."  
  
Jeff ignores him. "What about containment, Gabe?" he inquires instead, annoyed, and Gabe just sighs.  
"We got the nurses for 50 grand apiece, and the doctors for 100. The older guy wanted head of the CDC."  
  
Jeff hums. "Is that everybody?"  
  
Gabe nods. "Charles has all of his guys under control, as per usual. That man is...something else."  
  
"Get over your high school crush on the head of security already and focus," Jeff snaps, rolling his eyes. "What about _him_?"  
  
Gabe blushes a little, then blinks. _Him?!_ Jeff arches an eyebrow and he gets it. "Oh. Jensen."  
  
Truth is, Gabe is sorry for the guy. All Jensen ever did was trust Clay, blindly, to make the right decisions, and the world fell on his shoulders once Clay started making all the wrong ones.  
  
And of course, now-  
  
Jeff clears his throat, and Gabe is snapped out of his reverie and back to plotting the greatest scam in history.  
  
"When he gave his speech at Bryn Mawr, I managed to catch him before he left. I told him Clay's pressure went up after an- _incident_ at the hotel. He hates Clay now more than ever."  
  
Jeff chuckles. "Great."  
  
Then a sudden thought hits him. "Does Jared know about Jensen?"  
  
Gabe ponders about it for a moment. "No, I don't think he does. No one outside the White House knows."  
  
Jeff nods. "Make sure it stays this way, at least for now. The less Jared knows, the easiest will be for him to say the wrong thing and drive Jensen away even faster than Clay ever could."  
  
Gabe doesn't like it, but then again there's not much he has liked during the last twenty-four hours, so he's kind of getting used to it.  
  
"Everyone else seems to be buying the _minor stroke_ story, so we should be ok" Jeff recaps, serving himself a glass of whisky "let's just hope this _yutz_ can pull it off."  


 

 

  
  
"These are amazing results, Mr. President!" the White House doctor sounds surprised. "I must say, even for a man with a minor stroke, you seem to have made a remarkable recovery."  
  
Jared offers the doctor a tight smile, feeling stupid and exposed. "That's great," he says, trying to keep his voice as assertive as he can, knowing that's sort of Clay Miller's trademark. "I'm feeling much better."  
  
Jeff is there, watching the exchange with his arms crossed.  
  
"No signs of paralysis, no circulatory changes..." the doctor keeps reading his results.  
  
"Your ECG is completely normal and your blood pressure has even gone down!" Jared fidgets on the bed, uncomfortable under all that scrutiny.  
  
"Judging by these tests, I see no reason why you can't return to work in the next couple of days," the doctor concludes, still frowning.  
  
"Good," Jeff states.  


 

 

  
  
Just before they get inside the meeting room, both Jeff and Gabe grab his arms. "Hold it, Jared. Remember everybody's name, faces?" Gabe inquires.  
  
Jared smiles and nods, but Jeff keeps his stern expression. "Keep it _simple_ ," he hisses.  
  
Jared doesn't let him affect his disposition, though, so he lifts his chin. "Of course. Just watch me."  
  
He enters his office.  
  
"Good to see you, Diane! Good morning, Clara. It's good to be back, just a false alarm, nothing to be worried about."  
  
He waltzes in between his secretaries' desks, with a kind smile and a handshake for each and every single one of them, until he gets to the last one.  
  
"Hi, Genevieve, how are y-" Genevieve just runs up to him and grabs the neck of his shirt, pulling him impossibly close to her tiny body.  
  
"I was so worried, Mr. President, I didn't know what was going on. Why didn't you call me?" she hisses, and Jared coughs, embarrassed, trying to shove her away without seeming rude.  
  
"Maybe we should have warned him," Gabe whispers, but Jeff just clenches his jaw and steps in, pulling Jared away from her.  
  
"You _really_ had me worried," she repeats, trying to kiss him, and Jared blinks.  
  
"Well, I'm fine," he states, finally breaking free and hurrying into his office.  
  
"What's wrong with her?!" he asks once they're in, and Jeff shrugs.  
  
"Ignore it, she's just-emotional. She's very attached to the president."  
  
Jared waves happily at them, while Charles closes the doors, and the secretaries look at each other, puzzled.  


 

 

  
  
"Let's go over it again" Jeff starts, pushing the phone towards Jared. "You've met a girl, you fell in love and now you're going away together for a month."  
  
Jared arches an eyebrow. "A _month_?"  
  
Jeff nods. "Right. Don't embellish."  


 

 

  
  
"And so he said I was beautiful, and I-"  
  
The phone rings, so Sandy excuses herself and goes answering.  
  
"Padalecki's Temps, this is Sandy. Oh, hi, Jared! Where are you?" The rest of the employees stare at her as her expression shifts and she sits down.  
  
"You-you met _who_?! A-a _girl_?!"  
  
Alona snickers, and Sandy glares at her.  
  
"No, Jay, of course not! It's just that I always assumed...well, all of us always assumed that you...wait a moment, you're going _where_? Cancun?! No, that's-I think it's great, Jared, really. When-oh! Ok, go. I don't want you to miss your flight. I'll talk to you soon, yeah?" She hangs up and turns to the others.  
  
"He's in love. But he sounded strange, though."  
  
Katie chuckles.  
  
"Of course! He was trying to convince you he was in love with a _girl_! Come on, that guy is gayer than Elton John."  
  
Alona nods, and Sandy sighs.  
  
"Oh, well. Whoever it is, he's in love. Finally."  


 

 

  
  
"The President continued his convalescence, resting for the second day," the reporter states, from the gardens of the White House, before turning towards the President's personal physician to interview him.  
  
"I have examined him thoroughly," the man explains, "and I don't believe I have ever seen the President in better shape."  
  
The reporter thanks him, before going on. "The President was able to attend to some official business on Wednesday, and continues to be briefed on all areas of national concern. So confident is the White House about the president's recovery that the Vice-President has been sent on a 12-nation African goodwill tour."  


 

 

  
  
The day has finally arrived.  
  
The first day he will actually have to act like the President in front of everyone else and convince them that he _is_ the President. He has spent every waking hour studying the legislation and the way the legislature works and learning every name, face and role of his council members.  
  
Now they're in the press conference room, where Jeff is briefing him.  
  
"First, we'll go over the mannerisms. Gabe has worked out a training program for you."  
  
"It might seem strange at first," Gabe says, "but don't worry, okay? Even real politicians have trouble getting used to the cameras from time to time." Gabe smiles, and Jared smiles back.  
  
He really like the guy, he seems genuine. Which brings to the question that has been bothering Jared the most since he arrived: what's a person like Gabe doing with a tight ass like Jeff?"  
  
"...Jared? Jared, are you listening to me?"  
  
Jared blinks, then looks at Gabe sheepishly.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
Gabe chuckles. "'s fine. As I was saying, no one expects you to be Clay Miller overnight: the most important thing to remember is his general presence. For example, every time President Miller is on a podium, he always has one hand in the pocket of his coat..."  
  
"That must be something he only does at press conferences," Jared interrupts him, "because his hands are always _on_ the podium."  
  
Jeff ponders. "I'm not certain about that."  
  
Jared nods vigorously. "Come on, remember the convention speech? _An America, stronger than the one we were given. An America, prouder than the one we found_ ," he declares. "See? On the podium, except at _America_ , when he points."  
  
Gabe is gaping at him. "That was very good, Jared," he says, and Jared beams at him.  
  
"I love that speech," Jared explains, and Gabe blushes slightly. "Thanks, I-I wrote it." Jared gasps.  
  
"You did? Really? It's great!" he exclaims, in awe, before going back to declaring.  
Gabe's expression is proud and happy, while Jeff looks like he can't wait to get out of there.  


 

 

  
  
There are at least a hundred reporters (not counting the cameras) in the yard of the White House, under the balcony, waiting for the President to come out and give his first words after the accident.  
  
Jared was already skittish enough when Gabe approached him and told him that-  
" _What_?!" he squeaks.  
  
Jeff glares at him, and Jared composes himself a little. "I thought I wouldn't see him," he hisses.  
  
"It's just going to be five minutes, Jared, calm down," Gabe says, adjusting his tie. "He walks in, you both wave to the press, he leaves."  
  
Jared swallows. "The personal assistant-I mean, he knows the President well, doesn't he?"  
  
Gabe hides a smirk behind a fake cough. "I would say so, yes."  
Jared groans.  
  
"Great. Couldn't I start with a cousin or something?" he mutters.  
  
Gabe sighs. "He hardly ever sees him. It'll be so fast, he won't be able to tell."  
  
"Stop whining like a little girl," Jeff growls.  
  
"If you can convince him, you can convince anybody."  
  
Jared nods, but his palms are sweating. Jeff grabs the handset.  
  
"We're ready for Mr. Ackles" he states, before hanging up and turning to Jared again.  
  
"When he comes in, we'll move you two out to the balcony. All you have to say to him is _Thanks for doing this, Jensen._ "  
  
Jared mutters the sentence a couple of times; Gabe opens his mouth to speak, but the deadly glare Jeff throws his way stops him.  
  
"Well, he doesn't always like this stuff," he says instead. "It might soften him up."  
  
He's not sure of what Jeff is trying to pull, but he knows Jensen well enough to be sure he won't take it well. The door suddenly slams open and then close, as the most beautiful man Jared has ever seen enters the room, wearing blue dress pants and an opalescent white shirt. The grey tie only makes his dark green eyes look bigger.  
  
So, this is Jensen.  
  
Jensen Ackles.  
  
Jared licks his lips, suddenly dry, and unable to form a coherent thought. It feels like time has slowed down, but only a handful of seconds passed by before Jensen is in front of him, his eyes narrowed.  
  
"Why can't you die from a stroke like everybody else?" he hisses, and Jared blinks, taken aback.  
  
Fine, they didn't see exactly eye to eye, but such rage is most definitely unjustified, especially since, as far as Jensen knows, Clay really risked big this time.  
  
He's unable to tear his eyes off of Jensen, as the guy adjusts the neck of his shirt in the small mirror on the wall, and in the end Jensen noticed. "What are you staring at?" he snaps, and Jared should say something, anything, but the voice doesn't come out.  
  
Every word from Jensen's mouth takes a few extra seconds to reach Jared's brain, because he's too focused on the way the man's lips form them to actually process them.  
  
"Mr. Ackles, we're going to do it out here," Gabe chimes in, saving Jared from self combusting, but Jensen doesn't pay any attention to him. Instead, he steps closer to Jared, so close that if Jared took a very deep breath their chest would touch.  
  
"Who was she, Clay? Another patriotic secretary?" Jensen inquires, and Jared's pretty sure he doesn't know what the other man is talking about.  
  
There's a world shining through Jensen's eyes, and Jared has to talk to him, even for a moment. He has to create some sort of connection; he can't let Jensen think he's something that he's not.  
  
So he opens his mouth, just praying he'll say the right thing, but the only thing that comes out is- "Thank you for doing this, Jensen."  
  
He can see a wall fall on Jensen's gaze, until all that's left is a dull, cold light that accuses him of things Jared's not even aware of.  
  
"Go to Hell, Clay," Jensen answers, and Jared's sure he hears disappointment and regret resound in those words.  
  
Jeff claps his hands. "I think we can get started now," he says, merrily, but just before he gets out on the balcony Jensen stops, without turning.  
  
"Oh, and you can tell these two pit vipers that this is the last one of these I'll be doing for a while." Jensen walks away, and Jared feels like a bastard without knowing why.  
  
"You're doing just fine," Jeff whispers, patting his shoulder and pushing him towards the balcony.  
  
The reporters clap enthusiastically, and Jensen is grinning at him, a smile open and happy that doesn't reach his eyes. Jared preferred the rage, at least that was authentic.  
  
Once he's close to Jensen, though, the man passes an arm around Jared's shoulders and squeezes, before grabbing Jared's arm and lifting it up, in victory.  
The reporters clap louder.  
  
"Wave!" Gabe hisses from inside, and Jared complies.  
  
"Mr. President, how are you feeling?" a reporter asks.  
  
"Fine!" Gabe suggests.  
  
"Fine!" Jared answers.  
  
"Ready to get back to work?" another one questions.  
  
"You bet.."  
  
"You bet!" Jared repeats, and Jensen looks at him, puzzled before his expression turns into disgusted.  
  
"I'm out of here," he growls, before stomping away.  
  
Jared answers to a couple more questions, and then gets back inside, where Jensen is waiting for him with narrowed eyes.  
  
He took away the tie and unbuttoned the first two buttons on his shirt. All in all, he looks even more gorgeous than before, and Jared finally gets what Sandy was trying to tell him.  
  
_Uh_ , he thinks, and stares, speechless. After a couple of seconds, Jensen lets out a bitter chuckle.  
  
"After everything you've put me through, after keeping me as your dirty little secret in the back of your closet for five years, after all the shit that you did...don't you have _anything_ to say to me?"  
  
Jared's eyes go wide.  
  
Jensen and Clay...  
  
They...  
  
He would like to say a million things to the man in front of him, but there's only one sentence he has been allowed to pronounce. "Thank you for doing this, Jensen."  
  
Hurt flashes on Jensen's face, but it's gone in the blink of an eye. "You never change, do you," he spits out, before leaving the room, and Jared just stands there, unable to process what has just happened.  
  
He wants to shout, he wants to demand an explanation, he wants to know why Gabe and Jeff didn't tell him, but all he can say is...  
  
"He _hates_ me."  
  
Jeff beams. "Yes!"  


 

 

  


_TBC..._


	2. Second Chapter

  
  
The following days go by in a frenzy. Jared is busy taking picture, making videos, shaking hands with politicians and showing his most human side.  
  
It's not really a hardship, for him: Gabe has him in a photo shoot with babies, and Jared has always loved babies, so he doesn't have to fake the cooing, the beaming and the way he plays with them on set, inside and outside the final pictures.  
  
It's harder for him to deal with big figures of international politics, like China's Prime Minister, and still he makes it with flying colors. The guy has quite an interesting sense of humor.  
  
He still gets confused on where exactly his councilmen are sitting, around the table, but he always makes it up with a smile, a kind word and a nice comment. Everyone is quite taken with him: in fact, even some of those who were against his politics or his way of guiding the country, are now reviewing their positions.  
  
Gabe likes him, and feels a spark of pride in his chest every time someone says something good about the guy; Jared is a nice man, he deserves the opportunity and it's nice seeing his hard work is getting rewarded.  
  
"Slip your arms in those sockets, Mr. President, and the machine will do everything your arms do," a mechanic explains during a visit they pay to one of the most modern factories of the country.  
  
Jared smirks before extending his arms as much as he can; the metal arms do the same.  
  
"I once caught a fish _this_ big," he states, and everyone laughs and claps as he clowns around some more.  
  
"This is great," Gabe whispers, beaming, but Jeff is narrowing his eyes. He doesn't like this new turn of the events, not at all.

  


  
"Good boy! Got you," Jared exclaims, laughing and rolling on the grass with one of his two dogs, Sadie.  
  
The other one, Harley, is laying next to him, staring at him as if his owner has lost his mind. From the balcony, Jensen observes the scene and can't keep a small smile from appearing on his face.  
  
The man's cheeks are red for the exertion and the running around, and he looks younger. He looks-beautiful.  
  
As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Jensen shakes himself out of his reverie and quickly walks back in, starting to remember all the times Clay has humiliated him, hurt him, used him and then stomped on him.  
  
He tries to remember that Clay is the worst scumbag on Earth, but then his beaming, happy face flash back behind his eyelids and Jensen groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
He turns on the television to distract himself and, obviously, everywhere they're talking about Clay. "This guy has had a rebirth" a reporter is stating "this is a different fella in the White House now!"  
  
"There's been a remarkable transformation, that's for sure," another one agrees. "I think he has faced death in the eye and has been transformed by it."  
  
Jensen changes the channel and there's David Letterman warming up to his public.  
"Let me ask you a question, now: what is with President Miller lately, uh? Too many Happy Meals for lunch?"  
  
Jensen changes again, but apparently he's everywhere. Talking about alimentation with Arnold, throwing the ceremonial first pitch of the baseball season and so on.  
He tunes on the McLaughlin Group, an unrehearsed program presenting inside opinions and forecasts on major issues of the day.  
  
Usually they talk about important matters, like war and finances, but today...  
  
"Issue 1: the new Clay Miller," the moderator, John McLaughlin, starts. "Two weeks after his brush with death, the president is suddenly bounding around the country with the energy of a high-school track star."  
  
Jensen finds himself actually _blushing_ at the statement, unable to not translate it to their-precarious situation.  
  
He hasn't slept with Clay in over a year, tired of all the lies and the fucking around the other man kept up _for the sake of his image_ , as Clay said. Jensen never thought a slutty President image would have been of any help, but that's Clay for you.  
  
He does whatever he wants and just expects everyone else to roll with the punches.  
Thing is, sex with Clay has never been earth-shattering, but Jensen liked the intimacy of it, the way that, for a few hours, Clay only belonged to him  
.  
The illusion didn't last long, though. Only through the first three or four skanks and twinkies. It became clear that Clay only belonged to himself.  
  
Not lately, though. Lately Clay is...  
  
"Is this just overcompensation or the indefatigable greatness of a truly great man?" John is asking on the screen, and Jensen himself is unable to answer.  
  
Fred states that the illness just crystallized his thinking about his presidency, and that Clay has finally realized he didn't have to be a zombie. "He can show some life, even act like a child from time to time," Fred adds. "He shows the same strength of character as right after his election."  
  
Jensen sighs.  
  
He remembers Clay, back then, before power went to his head and he changed. "On a political rehabilitation scale of zero to ten, Clay Miller is an eight."  
  
Jensen whimpers and turns it off. This was so much easier when Clay was an all-round asshole.

 

  
Outside of Jensen's room, Jared is passing by, followed closely by Charles, and he can't help throwing a glance at the other man.  
  
 _Get a grip, Padalecki_ , he orders himself. _He's not yours to take_.  
  
And it hurts fiercely to have him so close and not be able to even _try_ , but Jared has accepted this job and there's so much more at stake that a man who could potentially be the love of his life.

 

  
That night, Jared can't sleep. Images of Jensen haunt his dreams, so he just gets up and takes a stroll outside, through the balconies.  
  
The view is breathtaking, and he'll never get used to it.  
  
The light is on in Jensen's room, and before he can stop himself Jared is silently approaching, wanting to see him, just for a moment.  
  
The other man is sitting on his bed, cross-legged, and he's revising some files. His hair is unruly and spiky, and there are reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose.  
  
He's wearing an oversized sweater and sweatpants, and biting on the end of his pencil in concentration.  
  
Jared swallows hard as his pants get tight. Jensen is so enticing, so pure and beautiful that Jared curses at Clay Miller again and again for hurting such a person.  
  
If he could, he would spend the rest of his life making up to Jensen. Right then, the man stands up and approaches his desk, which is right under the window, so Jared hurries away so that Jensen doesn't see him.  
  
He hates Jared enough already, better not give him further reasons to.

 

  
Instead of going back to bed, Jared takes a detour to the kitchen.  
  
He takes out lettuce, cheese, tomatoes, chicken, carrots, mayo, lemon and green olives, together with a couple more of ingredients, ready to prepare his secret sandwich, the one that can lift everyone's spirit.  
  
God knows he needs it.  
  
He's not surprised when Charles silently enters the kitchen and stands in a corner, watching over him.  
  
At first it creeped Jared out, now he knows Charles is a nice man and only does it to protect him, so he's grown fond of his presence.  
  
"So," he starts out conversationally. "The personal assistant and the President..."  
  
He trails off, and Charles arches an eyebrow.  
  
"I mean, what is that?! How-how long has that been going on?"  
  
"I can't say," Charles mutters.  
  
Jared stares him back.  
  
"You mean you don't know or-you can't say?"  
  
Charles huffs. "I can't say."  
  
Jared hums, then cuts the sandwich in two and puts one half of it in front of the second chair, motioning for Charles to join him.  
  
Charles looks unsure, but in the end his stomach wins and he sits down on the other side of the table.  
  
"Your job is to protect the president all the time? That's your whole job?" Jared asks, as Charles attaches the sandwich.  
  
"Yeah," the man mutters, his mouth full.  
  
"Do you have a gun?"  
  
Charles nods.  
  
"Ever used it?"  
  
The corner of Charles mouth twitches. "Not yet."  
  
For a couple of minutes they just eat in amicable silence, then Jared breaks it again.  
  
"You know what I've always wondered about you guys? The way they say you'd take a bullet for the president. Is that really true? Would you let yourself be killed to save his life?"  
  
 _Even if he is a complete douchebag like Clay Miller?_ he would like to add, but doesn't.  
  
Charles doesn't even think about it. "Certainly," he answers.  
  
Jared ponders. "Well, that means that now you would get killed for me, too," he points out, and Charles seems surprised, but doesn't reply.  
  
He finishes his sandwich, and Jared knows better than to question him any further.

 

  
"I'm sorry, the only time I have available is the 25th," Gabe is explaining over the phone, when Jeff storms in, throwing a few pages on Gabe's desk.  
  
"Are you out of your _mind_?!" he hisses, his eyes throwing daggers at the other man, who hurriedly ends the conversation and hangs up.  
  
"You scheduled a whole day with Jensen?!" Jeff growls, and Gabe swallows, adjusting his bowtie.  
  
"Jeff, it's-it's for a homeless shelter," he objects, but Jeff isn't having any of it.  
  
"What the fuck-"  
  
"It's gonna be great, Jeff, trust me" Gabe adds. "Caring about his personal assistant enough to spend time on his favorite issues..."  
  
Jeff slams a fist down on the desk. "I don't want him caring about his personal assistant!" he exclaims, making Gabe jump.   
  
"I need a president, not a poster boy for the gay pride! What about the Vice-President, uh?"  
  
Gabe cringes inwardly.  
  
He really, really doesn't want to do this. "Well, remember that First Liberty stuff we almost got nailed on?"  
  
Jeff nods, then his eyes go wide. "You-you dumped it on him instead?!" there's awe and a sprinkle of admiration in his voice, and it makes Gabe feel even worse.  
  
"When does it break?" he asks.  
  
"A couple of days" Gabe answers, before changing the topic. "Take a look at Jared's tracking polls, they'll burn up in your hands" he explains, showing them to Jeff.  
  
"73% with seniors, 84% with working mothers. I mean, come on, he is-"  
  
"We still gotta control this guy, Gabe," Jeff hisses, but in the end he agrees on the homeless shelter's date.

 

  
Inside the limo, Jared fidgets nervously, curled up against the door, while Jensen is comfortably spread on his half of the seat. He's dressed casually, with brown pants and a striped button down, and Jared is doing his best not to look at him.  
  
When Jensen finally decides to talk to him, though, Jared just has to.  
  
"Why are you doing this, Clay?" Jensen inquires, with narrowed eyes. "Since when do you care about the homeless?"  
  
 _Since when I found out how much you do_ , is what Jared wants to answer, but he simply says "I just do," instead.  
  
"Oh, yeah. I'm sure it's keeping you up at night," Jensen mutters, before stretching with a loud groan.  
  
No matter how big the limo is, sitting like that for over an hour is not very kind on your back.  
  
The movement pulls his shirt up, and Jared's gaze is drawn to the sliver of naked skin appearing just above Jensen's belt buckle.  
  
Jared can see the start of the trail of hair pointing down, and can't help the way his eyes wander towards Jensen's groin.  
  
A wave of desire hits him like a punch in the stomach and he actually _gasps_ , trying to remember how to breathe, to will his dick down and to banish all the inappropriate thoughts flooding his mind.  
  
Jensen arches an eyebrow and looks at him, puzzled, but thankfully says nothing.  
Jared stares pointedly at the car's door handle during the rest of the trip.

 

  
"Good morning, Clay and Jensen!" the kids greet them, and Jensen beams at them.  
  
"Good morning to you, kids. How are you? Thank you for that nice welcome," he says.  
  
His eyes sparkle and damn, this special talent of his to become more enticing every time Jared looks at him it's starting to become unnerving, seriously.  
  
Jared stares at the occupants of the shelter. Aside from a couple of adults...  
  
"They're _all_ kids," he whispers, in shock, and Jensen snorts bitterly.  
  
"That's right, Clay. Kids are homeless too."  
  
Jared swallows, turning his attention on the director of the shelter, Megalyn. "Where are the parents?" he asks.  
  
Megalyn shrugs. "A lot of them are in shelters, but some are still out on the streets."  
  
As they cross the hall, the kids shake their hands, and Jared feels his heart clench at the trust shining through their eyes.  
  
They are expecting him to make things better for them, he can't let them down.

 

  
Jensen turns towards the reporters.  
  
"What happens when kids become homeless is that they start to lose their communication skills," he explains, "so here at _Helping Hands_ they play a lot of games that encourage the kids to relate to each other and to express themselves."  
  
While Megalyn illustrates, showing how the kids learn to recognize the different parts of the human body, Jared's attention is captured by a lonely looking kid. He's wearing clothes too big for him and he's playing by himself in the opposite corner of the room.  
  
He sits on the carpet, right in front of him.  
  
"Hi there," he greets the kid. "What’s' your name?"  
  
The kid lifts a pair of big, clear eyes on him.  
  
"Colin," he answers, his voice a little unsure.  
  
Jared smiles at him. "That's a great name," he says. "What are you doing over here, Colin?"  
  
Colin is about to answer when flashes go off all around them. Jared groans, annoyed, and glares at the reporters. "Guys, not now. Okay? Thanks."  
  
The reporters protest, but Charles just has to approach them for them to deflate and move back to where Megalyn is playing another game with the rest of the kids. Jensen gets closer, confused.  
  
It's not very Clay-like to create that sort of good press and then reject it. "Don't you like playing games with the other kids?" Jared is asking.  
  
Colin just shakes his head.  
  
Jared ponders for a moment. "Do you like magic?"  
  
Colin perks up, but only says, "its okay."  
  
Jared grins.  
  
Watch this.” He grabs a plastic coin from the floor, puts it in a fist and then opens his hand: the coin is gone.  
  
Colin's eyes go wide. "Where'd it go?" he asks, in awe.  
  
"The answer is in this riddle: what can run all day without ever getting tired?"  
  
Colin frowns, thinking.  
  
"I'll give you a hint. It's not your ear, and it's not your mouth," Jared adds, and Colin beams.  
  
"My nose!" he exclaims.  
  
"Exactly," Jared confirms, then he snaps his fingers and the coin falls in his palm.  
"See? It was there all the time."  
  
Colin looks like a kid again, excited and happy, and Jared feels like he really made the difference.  
  
Then something behind him catches Colin's attention and the kid grins, so Jared turns. Surely enough, Jensen is there, offering him a tentative smile.  
  
Jared's cheeks burn, and he really hopes he's not blushing, but God, it's the first time that he has seen that expression on Jensen's face and he already knows he doesn't want it to go away.  
  
Ever.  
  
He turns back to Colin. "Is Jensen still there?" he asks in a whisper, and Colin nods.  
Jared swallows.  
  
"Does he look mad?" Jensen chuckles and Colin shakes his head.  
  
"Nah, not really."  
  
Jared throws a glance at Jensen. "Good."

 

  
"First cover of TIME magazine and I need a shave," Jared mutters, turning the pages of the scrapbook he’s making with all the articles about him to take away as a souvenir when all of this will be over. Charles looks at the pictures from over his shoulder.  
  
"Tough little moment with the dog...oh! And here you are, on the cover," Jared points out.  
  
Charles blinks. "Where?"  
  
"Front page! Right behind me, see? There are 20 other guys, but you stick out."  
  
Charles stares at the picture, unconvinced. "That's me?"  
  
Jared glares at him.  
  
"Of course it's you! Looking very strong and- _forbidding_." They pass by a few more.  
  
"Have you ever thought about wearing a sweater or something?" Jared suggests. “You'd blend in more-there you are again! Coming off the helicopter."  
  
Charles mutters something, and Jared arches an eyebrow, questioningly. "I said, sweaters make my neck look too thick" Charles huffs.  
  
Jared hums. "Maybe a sweater vest? You could wear a tie."  
  
"Do you think a sweater vest would look good on me?" Charles asks, doubtful. Jared grins.  
  
"Oh, I'm positive. Besides, I heard that Gabe loves sweater vests."  
  
And to see a mountain like Charles blush like a teenage girl?  
  
Is _priceless_.

 

  
"Where's the Simpson-Gardner paperwork?" Jeff asks, entering the President's office.  
  
Genevieve is on the phone, but still hands him the folder. _It just came in_ she mouths.  
  
"I think he's going to veto it," Jeff states, before closing the door of Jared's office. Genevieve blinks, puzzled, knowing the President is not in there.

 

  
"Can't read my, can't read my, no, he can't read my poker faaace..." Jared sings at the top of his lungs as he showers. "I wanna hold em’ like they do in Texas Plays, fold em’ let em’ hit me raise it baby stay with me! Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun, and baby when it’s love if it’s not rough it isn’t-"  
  
"I can't believe you would do something like this! Not even you!" Jensen exclaims, slamming the shower door open and effectively shutting him up.  
  
Jared squeaks, and his dick finds the situation way too close to his last sex dream for it to be good.  
  
"Ah! Jensen-what-"   
  
Jensen ignores him, hurt and disappointment back in his eyes as he stares at Jared's naked back and Jared wants to crawl in a hole and _die_.  
  
"How could you?" Jensen asks, his voice cracking, and Jared would give anything to solve it, whatever it is.  
  
"How could I _what_?" he asks, tentatively, as Jensen huffs.  
  
"Don't patronize me, Clay, I'm not one of your little bimbos. And turn around, I'm talking to you."  
  
This is the last thing Jared wants to do right now, especially with the way his body is responding to Jensen's closeness, but Jensen asks again and Jared just can't deny anything to him, so he slowly turns, half-hard cock and everything.  
  
"Look, if you want to be the same old selfish bastard-" Jensen stops abruptly, his eyes drawn to Jared's groin, and for a moment the temperature in the room steps up a notch.  
  
Then Jensen shakes his head an goes back on track, looking away, and the rejection hurts Jared more than Jensen's cold words.  
  
"I've gotten used to it, to you," Jensen goes on. "Just-don't put on this _man of the people_ routine and then do something like this."  
  
Jared swallows, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I-I don't understand," he says, confused, but Jensen narrows his eyes.  
  
"You know very well what you vetoed, Clay! That would've given those children homes!" Jensen clenches his fists, his jaw twitching. "When I think of that spectacle you put on with that little boy and the magic trick..."  
  
"Wait, wait a minute," Jared interrupts him. "What's wrong with the magic trick?"  
  
Jensen chuckles bitterly. "It was some magic, Clay. You made their funding disappear."  
  
He turns and walks away, but Jared stumbles out of the shower, trying to stop him.  
"Wait! If there has been a mistake, then I can-"  
  
Jensen stops, but doesn't turn, just like that first day on the balcony. "When you veto their funding, that's not a mistake," he murmurs. "When you hurt someone intentionally...that's not a mistake, either."  
  
"Jensen...Jensen!" Jared calls out, but this time Jensen just keeps walking. Jared stands there, naked and ashamed without even knowing what the fuck has happened, then he grabs a towel, knots it around his hips and opens the door.  
  
As always, Charles is there.  
  
"Call Jeff. Call Gabe. I want to see them now."  
  
Charles blinks. "But...it's 10.30 at night!"  
  
Jared's expression must be eloquent enough, because Charles lifts his hands. "You got it."

 

  
"What the hell is this?!" Jeff hisses menacingly as he enters the President's office with a sleepy-eyed Gabe.  
  
Jared, who was sitting on the edge of the desk, reading some papers, stand up and towers on him.  
  
"What the hell is _this_?" he retaliates, showing the pages at Jeff. He wants an explanation, and this time he's going to get one.  
  
"President vetoes Works Bill" Gabe reads out loud.  
  
"We _vetoed_ that?!" Jared asks, still in shock, and Jeff narrows his eyes. "No. _We_ didn't veto anything."  
  
Gabe sees the storm approaching and tries to avoid it, muttering something about how awfully complicated these things are, but Jared has had it.  
  
"What are you talking about?! The shelter was in that bill!"  
  
Jeff growls, and Gabe keeps trying to mend it.  
  
"Believe me, Jared, if we could have-"  
  
"Lots of shelters were in this bill!" Jared interrupts him, and Jeff steps forward, his fists clenched.  
  
Jared doesn't move, not intimidated at all, for once. God, Jensen's eyes. He will never be able to forget Jensen's hurt, sad eyes.  
  
"Listen, you little shit..." Jeff starts, but Gabe chimes in.  
  
"Jared, the budget is a very complicated thing," he tries to explain "even I don't understand it sometimes! Occasionally, we have to make some cuts, in order to-"  
Jared deflates.  
  
"But-we went there" he objects. "We _saw_ those kids."  
  
Jeff sneers.  
  
"Listen, Jared," he retorts mockingly, "if those snotty brats mean so much to you, find a way to cut 650 million dollars from the federal budget and you can keep your lousy shelters. How about that?"  
  
Jared gapes, and Jeff simply smirks.  
  
"Don't you ever send for me again," he hisses, before leaving.  
  
Gabe looks from one to the other, even opens his mouth to speak, but in the end he just sighs and follows Jeff.  
  
The chief of staff probably thinks he made a point and Jared won't bother them ever again, but he most definitely doesn't know the man. It only takes five minutes for Jared to come up with a plan.

 

  
It's raining hard when the old, battered car stops in front of the White House's gates.  
"Can I help you?" the security guard asks, and when the car window is rolled down, a pair of squinty eyes focus on him.  
  
"I'm here to see the President," the man mutters, nervously, and the security guard snorts.  
  
"Is that right?" he mocks, and Chad narrows his eyes.  
  
"He asked me to come" he replies. "I'm Chad Michael Murray."  
  
The surprised expression on the guard's face when he checks the list and finds Chad's name as one of the personal friends of the president is priceless, and while Chad crosses the gates he's thinking that maybe the whole trip had not been such a stupid idea, after all.  
  
That is, until Jared tries to convince Chad to sit in the president's chair.

 

  
"This place is probably bugged," Chad mutters, and Jared chuckles.   
  
"And you are paranoid. It's ok, Murray!"  
  
Chad glares at him. "It's _not_ ok, Jared. You could get in so much trouble if they find out..."  
  
Jared blinks.  
  
"With who?"  
  
Chad swallows. "The-the government" he whispers.  
  
Jared stands. "But Murray, _I_ am the government!" he exclaims, pointing at himself excitedly.  
  
Chad rolls his eyes but doesn't answer, so Jared decides to get back to business.  
"Listen, i can't tell you the whole story but...it's a national emergency kind of thing. You've gotta help me cut the budget a little."  
  
Chad gapes at him. "You've got to _cut_ the budget?" he slowly repeats.  
  
Jared nods. "About 650 million dollars."  
  
Chad just stares, shocked, so Jared goes for the kill.  
  
"You look hungry," he says, and grabs the phone. "Dianne, could you please come in here for a minute?"  
  
Chad arches an eyebrow, but Jared smirks. "Just watch."   
  
The door opens and one of his secretaries appears. "Yes, Mr. President?" Jared gives her a curt nod.  
  
"We need two copies of the budget, and...could you arrange for dinner for two in the dining room?" he asks in a stern tone.  
  
"Right away, sir," Dianne answers.  
  
"We have lots of work to do, so we're not to be disturbed," Jared adds, and she nods. Right before she leaves, as he looks straight into Chad's eyes, he asks: "do you think they could rustle up some fresh bratwurst and some hot mustard?"  
  
Chad's eyes go wide, as Dianne nods again. "I think that can be arranged."  
  
"I love bratwurst," Chad says, and Jared grins.   
  
"I know."

 

  
A few hours later, when there's almost nothing left on their plates, Chad scratches the back of his head and looks up from the pages.  
  
"Jared, let me tell you something: I've been over this stuff a bunch of times, and it just doesn't add up," he says, frowning.  
  
"Who does this books?! I mean, if I ran my office this way, I'd be out of business!"  
Jared sighs.  
  
That's what he thought. "So, what can we do?" he inquires, and Chad shrugs.  
  
"I see a lot of places where you could save, but I can't make those choices. I'm not the president."  
  
Jared looks at him pointedly, and Chad chuckles. "I mean, I'm not the one pretending to be the president."  
  
Jared ponders about it for a moment. "Let me give it a try."  
  
Chad blinks. " _You_?"  
  
Jared thinks about Jensen's small smile in the shelter, and really, there is no other option. "Yeah," he repeats. "Let me try."  
  
A sly grin appears on Chad's face, and Jared knows there will be hell to pay for this, but he doesn't care. "Okay, then" Chad concedes in the end, grabbing the budget "there's something right here, look..."

 

  
Jeff marches triumphantly down the halls, towards the cabinet, whistling. The rest of the councilmen are still milling around, chitchatting, as they wait for the session to start.  
  
When gets in the room, he's surprised by lots of cameras and reporters, but he's too giddy about the newspaper in his hands to really focus on anything else.  
  
"It's a work of art," he whispers to Gabe as he shows him the front page, where the title says _Vice-President's office linked to S &L scandal_.  
  
"You're a genius, man, we're on our way," Jeff adds, patting his shoulder, and Gabe offers him a small smile, uncomfortable. He doesn't like it, but it's not like he was given any other choice after all.  
  
"What's with the cameras?" Jeff asks after a moment, and Gabe shrugs. "Hundredth cabinet meeting," he explains. "I thought it'd be a nice touch."  
  
Before Jeff can answer, Jared makes his entrance, smiling and nodding at his councilmen as he walks up to his place. Everyone sits down, and Jared clears his throat.  
  
"Before we get started, there are some things I'd like to go over in the budget," he states, and the councilmen look at each other, puzzled.  
  
"Was this on schedule?" Eric asks in a whisper to Robert, who shakes his head, just as confused.  
  
"Do we have anything on the budget today?" Jeff inquires and Gabe checks his list.  
  
"No, I don't think so," he answers. Jared ignores everyone's questioning looks and goes on.  
  
"I think I found some ways to put back the homeless section of the Simpson-Gardner on the Works Bill, and-"  
  
Jeff stands up. "Mr. President, I don't believe that on your agenda today," he points out, sternly.  
  
Jared slowly turns to look at him. "No, it isn't. It's a last minute change, Jeff," Jared replies, defiantly.  
  
Jeff just gapes at him, speechless, before narrowing his eyes, and Gabe pats his arm. "It's all right," Gabe whispers, secretly cheering for Jared in his mind as Jared keeps explaining.  
  
"Now, the way I see it, we need 650 million dollars in order to keep the project. Some of this can be done, seem to me, through some simple changes in our cash management. For example, according to the OMB, we've got 17 defense contractors who are delinquent in their contracts."  
  
Jared turns towards the councilmen on his right. "Is this true, Frank?"  
  
Frank blinks. "I-I believe so, yeah."  
  
Jared arches an eyebrow. "So, even if they're late we keep paying them on time?"  
  
Frank swallows. "Well, in a sense..."  
  
Cameras flash, and Frank shrugs. "Yes."  
  
Jared grins. "Instead of paying them for something they haven't finished, why don't we hold back that cash, put it in some interest-bearing-"  
  
"Mr. President," Jeff hisses, standing up again. Jared's back stiffens.  
  
"Yes?" he growls, without even turning.  
  
Everyone's eyes are on him, and Jeff starts sweating. He can't win, he just can't win.  
Not now, anyway.  
  
"Nothing," he mutters, sitting back down.  
  
"Great" Jared states, without even trying to hide the note of mockery, before going back to saying that, if they took that cash and stuck it in even an ordinary savings account, they'd be making 23 million dollars a month in interests.  
  
"Well, technically that it's true, but..." another councilman object, and Jared arches an eyebrow. A corner of the man's mouth twitches.  
  
"I suppose it's true."  
  
Jared beams at him. "Good! That's 23 millions per 12 months."  
  
He writes it down on his pad, then clears his throat. "Unfortunately, money management only gets us halfway to our goal."   
  
"In order to get the rest of the money, we'll have to make some tough choices." Jared looks at the head of the Commerce Department.  
  
"We're spending 47 million dollars on an ad campaign to boot consumer confidence in the American auto industry. Care to elaborate?"  
  
The man clears his throat. "It's designed to bolster individual confidence in a previous domestic automotive purchase."  
  
Jared hums. "So, we're spending 47 million dollars for somebody to feel good about a car they've already bought?"  
  
The man looks taken aback. "Well yes, sir, but I wouldn't categorize it that way! I mean, we-"  
  
Jared shakes his head. "I'm sorry, i didn't mean to offend you. I'm sure that it's important and all, but I don’t want to tell an eight-year-old kid he's gotta sleep in the street because we want people to feel better about their car."  
  
The man opens and closes his mouth, unable to answer, and Jared arches an eyebrow.  
  
"Do _you_ want to tell him that?" he inquires, and the man smiles.  
  
"No, sir. I sure don't."  
  
Jared smiles back, as he adds 47 million more to the total on his pad.  
  
"This is good, we're doing real good," he says. "We're on our way, people."  
  
All around the table, murmurs of encouragement and nods, and suddenly Jared doesn't feel so alone anymore.

 

  
"Five, carry the one..." Jared has taken away his jacket, and the sun is almost starting to set, as he scribbles away on what seems the umpteenth page on his pad.  
"...and we've got 656 million dollars, everybody, which means we can keep the program."  
  
He rubs his eyes and massages the bridge of his nose, while everyone, including the cameras and the reporters, start clapping and cheering.  
  
Gabe sneaks a look at Jeff's narrowed eyes, then decides he doesn't give a fuck and starts clapping too, grinning like a loon.  
  
From right next to the door, Charles looks at the scene and for the first time in years he dares to hope.

 

  
When his assistant knocks insistently on his office's door as he's in an important meeting, Jensen frowns.  
  
She should know better.  
  
Then he looks at her, and notices her wide eyes and shocked expression, so he excuses himself, stands up and walks up to her.  
  
"What?" he asks, a little worried, but her assistant just shakes her head.  
  
"You're not gonna believe what your-Clay just did," she whispers.

 

  
"I'll kill him," Jeff hisses, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles go white.  
  
Gabe snorts. "You can't kill a president," he objects, and Jeff glares at him.  
"He's not a president. He's an ordinary person, and I can kill an ordinary person," he growls.  
  
"Jeff..."  
  
"I can kill 100 ordinary people!" Jeff exclaims, slamming his fist on the table, before stomping away.  
  
"Jeff, wait!" Gabe tries to stop him. "He's only doing what you told him to!"  
  
Jeff clenches his jaw. "What _I_ told him to?"  
  
Gabe nods. "I heard you. You said _cut 650 million dollars off the federal budget and you can keep your homeless shelters._ "  
  
Jeff huffs. "I obviously didn't mean it," he points out, annoyed. "Why would I want to save a homeless shelter, uh?"  
  
Gabe sighs. "He was only doing his job-"  
  
"It's not his job, dammit! It's _my_ job!" Jeff roars, and Gabe grabs his arm to stop him from walking.  
  
"Calm down, Jeff."  
  
"Was he on the Trilateral commission?" Jeff hisses. "Was he a Senator? Was he in _Who's Who_ in Washington for nine years in a row?!"  
  
Gabe bites his lower lip, not knowing what to say, and Jeff takes as an agreement. "I'll destroy him, shred him, rip him into pieces!"  
  
"Jeff-"  
  
"I'll lock him away for good, we'll see then how well he-"  
  
"Then we'll all go to jail together." Gabe's words echo in the hall, and Gabe himself doesn't believe he has actually said.  
  
But he did. Fuck, he did.  
  
"What-what do you mean by that?" Jeff inquires, looking as shocked as Gabe feels.  
He can't step back, though, not now.  
  
 _Come on, Gabe, grow a pair_ , he tells himself, and lifts up his chin.  
  
"Just what you think I mean," he replies, and Jeff's jaw twitches.  
  
"Are you threatening me?"  
  
Gabe swallows. "Well..." He recalls Jared's courage and his defiant stare and makes his decision. "Yeah, I guess I am."

 

  
Jared pulls Chad in for a hug. "Thanks, Murray," he says. "You did great."  
  
Chad nods, then he pulls back, staring at him for a moment. "You know, I'm going to ask why."  
  
Jared thinks about pretending not to understand what he's talking about, but Chad has been his best friend for all of his life and he deserves better than that. So he just shrugs.  
  
"Felt like the right thing to do."  
  
Chad arches an eyebrow.  
  
"Is he worth it?" he asks, and Jared wants to just tear at his hair and demand to know why everyone just assumes he's gay, but then he thinks about Jensen's eyes and his freckled cheeks and can't help blushing.  
  
"Yeah, he is."  
  
Chad doesn't say anything for a while, just looking at him, before nodding, satisfied, and hopping into his car.  
  
"Maybe you can come back sometime and we can go to Camp David," Jared suggests, and Chad just chuckles.  
  
"Get out of here as fast as you can, freak," he replies, driving away.

 

  
Jared is just relaxing on the sofa, watching a horse race.  
  
"Come on, seven!" he exclaims, his attention so focused on the television that he doesn't hear the door open. He doesn't realize there's someone with him until he hears Jensen's voice, impossibly close.  
  
"Come on, number six."  
  
Jared stands up, his eyes wide, as he takes in Jensen's disheveled appearance. He's wearing the same sweater and sweatpants he had on the night Jared looked at him through his window.  
  
This is...this is night’s Jensen. Intimate Jensen.  
  
The Jensen that will never truly belong to him.  
  
Jared swallows, and throws a glance at the television, just in time to see the horse number two crossing the finish line. "We both lose," he says, his throat suddenly dry, and things don't really improve when Jensen smiles at him, a shy, tentative smile so similar to the one back at the shelter.  
  
It's the smile that says Jensen is giving him a chance, and this time Jared is ready to do whatever it takes to deserve it.  
  
"I saw your light was on," Jensen explains. "Do you mind if I sit down?"  
  
Jared swallows again and nods, unable to answer, and after fidgeting for a couple of seconds he sits next to Jensen, putting a pillow between them, just to keep temptation at bay.  
  
Here they are in their pajamas, in front of the fire... it doesn't get more romantic than this, and Jared really doesn't need any encouragement.  
  
"That was quite a thing you did today," Jensen says, shifting closer.  
  
"A-anyone would have done that," Jared replies, gruffly, but Jensen shakes his head, slowly leaning in.  
  
"I don't think so," he whispers. "You helped a lot of people."  
  
His face is now so close to Jared's that he can feel Jensen's breath against his cheek, and he knows he should move, dammit, he should move, but he's sort of frozen to the spot.  
  
"You know," Jensen's lips brush Jared's with every word. "It kind of reminded me of that thing you did a long time ago in the state Legislature."  
  
Jared instinctively licks his lips, but he gets stuck on Jensen's plump lower one and thinks, fuck it. "Oh, yeah, me too," he murmurs before closing the space between them and finally kissing him.  
  
Jensen's mouth opens immediately under his, and Jared feels dizzy with the implications. His fingers find their way to the nape of Jensen's neck and he pulls the other man impossibly closer.  
  
Their tongues shift and slide, and Jared is afraid he's going to pass out, but right then Jensen breaks the kiss, panting. "Clay wasn't in the state Legislature. And he most definitely never kissed me like this" he states, and Jared's heart skips a beat.  
  
"I..."  
  
Jensen stands up and extends a hand towards him. “Hi, I'm Jensen Ackles. Who the fuck are you?"  
  
Jared stands up too, but doesn't answer. Jensen narrows his eyes.  
  
"Look, I'll make this easy on you. I never see him anymore. Hell, I barely _know_ him anymore and I don't love him anymore. We haven't slept together in over a year, but I-"  
  
He lowers his eyes, and clenches his jaw. "I'd just kind of like to know where he is."  
  
Jared can't do anything but nod.

 

  
_TBC..._


	3. Third Chapter

  
A few hours later, after he knows Jensen has come and gone from the restricted area, Jared drops by Jensen's room to see how he's holding up.  
  
Seeing the love of your life in a coma, surrounded by cables and vials, while a few paid nurses and doctors take care of him in total secret can be pretty shocking, after all.  
  
The last thing he expects is to find Jensen packing.  
  
"You're leaving?" he asks, mentally hating himself for the stupid question.  
  
"Well, I'm not anyone's personal assistant anymore," Jensen murmurs, his eyes fixed on his half-empty suitcase. "I shouldn't be here.”  
  
Jared steps inside the room, because Jensen wants to leave and no, no, no. "Where-where are you going?"  
  
Jensen shrugs. "Home."  
  
"Where is home?"  
  
Jensen stops half-way to his closet and turns to finally look at him. "Can we stop with the 20 questions? Because I'm really not in the mood, and-"  
  
His gaze shifts down, and he sees that Jared's holding a bag. Jared offers him a small smile. "Souvenirs," he explains. "Towels and stuff."  
  
"You're leaving too?" Jensen frowns.  
  
 _There's no point in me staying if you're not here_ it's what Jared wants to say, but what comes out instead is "I never wanted to hurt anybody. I-I even thought I was helping."  
  
Jensen lets out some sort of broken sound and Jared steps closer, just when Jensen starts talking in a broken, dejected voice.   
  
"I made this little deal with myself that I could put up with all the women. I could even do without a life, without children, without someone who falls asleep next to me at night and is still there when I woke up..." He sits on the bed, rubbing angrily at his eyes to stop a few traitorous tears from escaping.  
  
"I could do it all because I believed in what I was doing, and I thought-"  
  
"You thought you had a chance to help people" Jared finishes for him.  
  
Jensen nods, slowly, staring down at his hands clenching in his lap.  
  
Jared sighs. "How are you going to get home?"  
  
Jensen chuckles bitterly. "I don't know. I hadn't really thought it out that far."

 

  
They cough slightly as they come out of an old secret passage full of dust and cobwebs. When they look up, they can see the enlightened outlines of the White House, and it all looks like a dream.  
  
"Charles said he'd leave a car right over there," Jared said, pointing.  
  
"He also said this could have gotten him into a lot of trouble," Jensen chimes in. "But in the end he did it anyway. Why?"  
  
Jared thinks about the longing gazes Charles throws Gabe's way when the other man is not looking, and sighs. "I guess he secretly wants to escape, too."  
  
Jensen looks like he's going to question him further, but the car is there and they have to get away before anyone finds out they're gone.  
  
"So, was Clay such an asshole that you knew it wasn't him when he finally did something good?" Jared asks, half joking, and Jensen snorts.  
  
"Oh, no. I had my doubts way before that."  
  
Jared throws a surprised glance at him. "When...what was it?"  
  
"On the way to the shelter," Jensen answers, "in the car. You looked like you wanted to eat me."  
  
Jared chokes on his saliva, blushing furiously. "I...uh..."  
  
Jensen shakes his head. "Relax, man, it's cool. It's just-Clay stopped looking a long time ago."  
  
They're silent for a while, then Jared has to break the tension. "I thought maybe it was in the shower," he mutters, and Jensen stares at him for a second before he throws his head back and laughs, a real laughter, that warms Jared to his core.  
  
"Oh, man, that was glorious," Jensen stutters in between giggles. "Lady Gaga? Really?"  
  
"Hey!" Jared squeaks, offended, but then joins in and they're both laughing until their stomachs ache.  
  
"Are you hungry?" Jared asks when they've finally calmed down.

 

  
"This sandwich is _so_ good! What's in it?" Jensen inquires, in awe, as they're sitting on a pad of grass overlooking the White House. Apparently, none of them is ready to leave it behind, yet.  
  
Jared smirks. "It's a secret."  
  
Jensen munches, pensively. "You have a lot of secrets," he says in the end and Jared shrugs.  
  
"I guess."  
  
Jensen takes a drink from his foam cup, before resting his chin on his knees. "So, what do you do the rest of the time?" he asks.  
  
"You mean when I'm not running the country?" Jared retaliates, and Jensen rolls his eyes. "Okay, okay," Jared relents.  
  
"I run a temp agency. You know, secretaries and stuff."  
  
"So...you find people jobs?"  
  
Jared nods and Jensen chuckles. "That's more than most people do around here."  
  
Jared snorts. "Don't get carried away, I'm not _that_ good at it."  
  
"And your family? I mean...I assume you're-married?" Jared wishes he didn't hear the underlying hope echoing in Jensen's words.  
  
"I was. Once. It didn't take." Thinking about it stings, as usual; Jared still considers the end of his marriage as a personal failure.  
  
Jensen probably senses it, because he crosses his legs and turns towards him.  
"You know, Jared..." He seems to be looking for the right words, but in the end gives up. "I won't be able to keep all of this a secret," he eventually states.  
  
"I know," Jared replies, disappointed. It's not what he was expecting. "I liked doing it, though," he adds, as an afterthought.  
  
"Not the fancy stuff, with all the helicopters and the TV cameras. Just...I liked saving that shelter. I liked helping people that I hadn't even met before. I liked making you happy, working with you." Jared smiles softly, staring at the sky. "Just then, I felt like I wasn't pretending anymore."  
  
Jensen lets out a deep sigh, then he covers Jared's hand with his and squeezes.  
"I don't think you were pretending."  
  
They look at each other, the bond between them growing stronger and deeper by the second, until nothing else matters, but just then a car passes by, honking, and the moment is broken.  
  
Jared clears his throat and retires his hand, but Jensen has made his decision.  
He leans in and wraps his fingers around Jared's wrist. "What would you do if you were still in there? I mean, if you had one more chance to be president...what would you do then?"  
  
Jared blinks, surprised, before grinning.   
  
"Lots of things. But I couldn't do it alone, you know. I'd need something like a...personal assistant. Someone with experience, who cleans up nice to boot."  
  
Jensen's eyes sparkle in the night, as he beams at Jared, and right then nothing seems impossible.

 

  
When they're back inside the White house, in the middle of the hall that divides their living quarters, they stand right next to each other for a moment.  
  
"You make a nice president, Jared Padalecki," Jensen whispers in Jared's ear, and all Jared wants is to drop his bag and pull Jensen in his arms. He can't, though, not now and probably not ever, so he just steps back, trying his best for his desperate need not to shine through.  
  
From the way Jensen clenches his jaw, he fails spectacularly at it.

 

  
eff slams the door of Gabe's office open and stomps in but Gabe's already lifting his hands. "I had no part in this. He called himself, I swear to God."  
  
Jeff roars, before turning on himself and stomping back out, towards the president's office. Jared is sitting at his desk, and barely lifts his eyes from the pages in his hands when the Chief of Staff enters the room.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" Jeff hisses.  
  
Jared frowns, then snaps his fingers. "Oh, you mean the press conference. I have a couple ideas to share with the country, that's all."  
  
"Share? _Share_?!" Jeff is livid. "You don't call a press conference. _I_ call a press conference. You are _nothing_. Do you understand? You're _nobody_."  
  
Jared blinks. "I-I'm not nobody-"  
  
"You're _lint_!" Jeff interrupts him, clenching his fists. "You're a flea! You're a _blip_!"  
  
Jared sighs. "Maybe I am" he concedes. "But you are fired."  
  
Jeff gasps. "What?"  
  
Jared narrows his eyes. "You heard me. Now, get out of here."  
  
Jeff growls and slams his fist on the desk. " _You_ are fired, you son of a bitch," he exclaims.  
  
Jared stares at him for a moment, then shrugs. "Fine. The whole press corps is out there: should I go tell them or did you want to?"  
  
Jeff opens his mouth, probably to curse some more, when the door opens and a stunning-looking Jensen with grey pants and a light blue shirt enters, beaming at Jared.  
  
"Hey, they're all waiting in the Press Room. I really think you should get in there." Jensen walks up to him, adjusting Jared's tie, and his fingers stop to slightly caress his jaw.  
  
Jeff makes a choking noise and Jensen abruptly retracts his hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought we were alone," he apologizes, blushing slightly. Then he looks at Jeff, arching an eyebrow. "Weren't you supposed to fire him?" he questions, and Jared nods.  
  
"I did, Jen."  
  
He turns to Jeff and winks at him. "I'd like your resignation on my desk by the time I get back."

 

  
"Hey guys, what's up?" a reporter asks, while the others shrugs.  
  
"Must be the Vice-President, what else could it be?" he suggests.  
  
"The _ex_ Vice-President," another chimes in. "He'll be a prison reformer soon."  
  
Gabe rubs his hands together, pacing nervously, until he sees Jared and Jensen approaching. "They're coming," he hisses. "Let's go."  
  
Charles precedes them in the press conference room, and Jensen stops Jared just before he follows him. "Good luck," he whispers, rubbing his thumb on Jared's knuckles.  
  
Jared just nods and enters, amongst flashing going off. "Thanks for coming on such short notice," he starts. "I'd like to begin with an announcement that may come as a surprise for many of you: I've asked Jeffrey Dean Morgan to resign as White House Chief of Staff."  
  
The reporters start murmuring, surprised and confused, as Jared goes on explaining how, over the last few months, Jeff and him have come to believe in different things.  
"He thinks this country is fine and we should go about doing business as usual; I just don't feel that way, not anymore, because...things are _not_ fine."  
  
Jared throws a glance to the side, and Jensen is there, smiling encouragingly at him.  
  
"We've got so many problems that we don't even want to look at them anymore. They blend together into this great big noise and pretty soon we can't even hear ourselves think-but that's not even the worst part."  
  
Jared sighs, clenching at the podium because his legs are shaking. This is it, the moment people wait for a lifetime to live. "We feel like we can't do anything about it, and that's a tragedy, because-we can. Maybe we don't know where to start, maybe that's what it is, but I have an idea."  
  
He swallows, and unfolds a paper in front of him. "From today," he states slowly, "I'm going to make it the responsibility of this government to find a job for every American who wants one."  
  
The murmuring gets louder, and Jared can see reporters shaking their heads. Gabe sighs, and Jared feels lost for a moment, but then he sees Jensen's expression, the pride shining in his eyes and his tender smile, and everything makes sense again.  
  
This is _their_ dream, and hey, no one ever said it was going to be easy.  
  
"Have you ever seen the look on somebody's face the day they finally get a job? I've had some experience with this: they look like they could _fly_. And it's not about the paycheck! It's about respect, about looking in the mirror and knowing that you've done something valuable with your day."  
  
Jared smiles softly, as Alona, Katie, Sam pop into his mind. "And if one person could start to feel that way, then another, and then another, pretty soon all these other problems we're facing may not seem so-- impossible."  
  
The room is silent, and Jared doesn't know if it's the shock or anything else, but they're listening to him and right now that's all he can ask for. "You don't know how much you can do until you stand up and decide to try," he concludes, and both Charles and Gabe are staring at him.  
  
Then, as if following some weird impulse, they turn towards each other and for the first time in years they don't look away.  
  
Jared clears his throat. "Well, that was it. Let's get to work. Thank you."  
  
He waves curtly, steps down the podium and leaves the room, while the reporters go wild. "Thank you, Mr. President," one of the reporters mutters.

 

  
Jared's comprehensive full employment program is something unparalleled since the days of FDR. The newspapers call it _the boldest initiative yet of the new Clay Miller administration_ and the proposal brought swift reaction on Capitol Hill; there are those who think that Jared is on the right track, and putting people to work is what has to be done, because it's far better to have someone with a job than collecting welfare checks..  
  
There are those who think that the president has gone insane, and he doesn't know what he's saying, or that his proposal is ridiculous and impossible to apply.  
  
Someone inquires about how the government intends to pay for such a reform, and someone considers it a rip-off of previous electoral programs presented by other candidates.  
  
There's even someone who believes that it's all a conspiracy and the president has been substituted after the stroke.  
  
Jared huffs and turns off the television, throwing the remote on the bedside table, it falls behind it, though, so Jared groans and moves the bedside table to recover the remote. Behind it, on the floor, there's a crumpled picture.  
  
He picks it up carefully: it's covered in dust and smudges of dirt, but there's no mistaking it. It's Jensen and Clay.  
  
They look young and happy, Jensen is holding Clay's hips while Clay has an arm around Jensen's shoulders. They're smiling at the camera, and the slight flush of Jensen's cheeks tells a lot about the way he felt for the other man.  
  
Jared's heart clenches.  
  
Jensen doesn't love him, he's probably not even attracted to him.  
  
He just sees _his_ Clay in Jared, the person Jensen used to be with before life and power changed him, and Jared can't take it. He won't be anyone's replacement.  
  
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he takes a deep breath and goes out.

  


  
Jensen keeps tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep.  
  
Everytime he closes his eyes, he keeps seeing Jared on that podium, his eyes filled with dreams and willpower, and no matter how hard he tries to superimpose Clay's face on Jared's, he can't do it.  
  
"This is crazy," he mutters, pressing a pillow against his face.  
  
He doesn't get how is it possible that they are so different even if they look exactly the same. There's no way, no how he can confuse what he's feeling for Jared with what he felt for Clay.  
  
Jensen snorts.  
  
He had to meet someone like Clay to find out what falling in love with Jared could be like, and he had to fall in love with Jared to realize he never truly loved Clay.  
  
So now he's in love with someone who looks like Clay and acts like Jared.  
  
Figures.  
  
"Fuck my life" Jensen groans.

 

  
"The US News hammered us, but they're always tough. Rosenthal loved us," Charles is relaying, his hands full of newspapers.  
  
Jared makes a non-committal noise, not really registering anything the man is saying, until they get in front of his office and Genevieve approaches him. "Mr. Speight is waiting for you inside," she tells him, and Jared blinks.  
  
"Who?"  
  
Charles rolls his eyes. "The Vice-President" he hisses, and Jared's eyes go wide.  
  
"Oh-oh! Of course, the Vice-President. Speight! I thought you said-nevermind. I want my ears checked, write it down."  
  
Genevieve's eyebrows go up to her hairline. "Sir, I don't..."  
  
"Ever since the stroke I can get a little-" Jared taps his temple, then beams at them and enters his office.  
  
Genevieve looks positively creeped out. "Oh my God," she mutters, grimacing, and Charles hides a grin behind the newspapers.  
  
Well, at least now the groupie is most definitely out of the picture.

 

  
Richard Speight Jr, Vice-President of the United States (certifiably crazy) is sitting in front of the president's desk. He's a short man, and he's wearing an Hawaiian short-sleeved shirt. There is way too much yellow for it to be healthy and he’s holding a pike in one hand, together with some colored necklaces and a creepy mask made of beans and straw in the other.  
  
He has a long beard and his hair is curling around the nape of his neck.  
  
As Jared opens the door, the man turns to look at him with deep, intense blue eyes.  
Jared swallows nervously.  
  
"Mr. President," the man greets him, his voice stern but warm at the same time. "These are a gift from the King of Togo," he explains, offering him the necklaces.  
"Fertility beads."  
  
Jared gasps and tries to hide his embarrassment faking a cough. "What about those?" he inquires, pointing at the mask and the pike.  
  
"From the people of Burundi," Richard answers, giving everything to Jared.  
  
Jared thanks him, and as he's sitting in his chair the Vice-President clears his throat.  
"Mr. President, may I speak frankly with you?"  
  
"Yes, please," Jared answers immediately, and Richard narrows his eyes.  
  
"I know we don't always get along," the man starts. "We've disagreed, politically, and I suppose I know what you think of me personally, but..." He sighs.  
  
"I've always tried to respect the role you wanted me to play: when I disagreed with this administration, I kept it to myself. When you wanted my support, you've always had it."  
  
Jared blinks, then nods, not understanding what the point is, until Richard clenches his fists. "Dammit, Clay, how could you do something like this to me?"  
  
His voice makes alarm bells go off in Jared's head: it's the same voice Jensen had when he approached him in the bathroom to demand an explanation about the shelter's funds.  
  
"Something like what?" he asks, tentatively, and he sees the disappointment and the hurt appear in Richard's eyes.  
  
Oh, _not again_. "We're not children, Clay. I didn't have anything to do with this First Liberty nonsense and you know it."  
  
The man is not even screaming. He keeps calm and collected, even if his eyes are throwing daggers at Jared. "All I've got is my integrity, Clay. That's all I have left. I don't know why you turned your attack dogs on me, but-"  
  
"They're not _my_ attack dogs." Jared's words interrupt Richard's speech and the man looks taken aback.  
  
"What?"  
  
Jared lifts his chin up. "I'll take care of this."

 

  
"We made it up," Gabe admits, his head hanging low.  
  
"What do you mean?" Jared inquires, confused.  
  
"We had to, Jared," Gabe tries to explain. "The guy's a Boy Scout, I mean-"  
  
"Gabe, this is _wrong_! What the hell were you thinking?!" Gabe fidgets, unable to look at either Jared or Charles.  
  
Oh, God, what will Charles think of him now? "I know it looks awfully bad, Clay, and I'm really ashamed of myself, but-it was Jeff's idea."  
  
And it is true, but that doesn't mean that he did it, anyway. He could have said no, he could have been stronger. He hears the sharp intake of breath and can't blame Charles for turning and leaving the room without as much as a second glance.  
Gabe sighs.  
  
"Listen, Clay, I-"  
  
He's interrupted by the door slamming open: Jensen storms in, and goes straight for the remote.  
  
"You better take a look at this," he growls, turning the TV on. "Jeff is holding a fucking press conference."  
  
" _When I first began to look into the allegations concerning First Liberty savings and loans, I thought the wrongdoing was restricted to the Vice-President, but when I started to investigate I discovered that this pattern of corruption extended much higher._ "  
  
Jared frowns. "I don't understand," he murmurs, and Jensen squeezes his arm, offering him a small smile, as on the screen Jeff goes on.  
  
" _I was saddened to discover at least 15 separate acts of intervention by this administration, most with the full knowledge of the president and all of them **illegal**. Federal regulators were influenced, records were destroyed and pressure was brought to bear, in some cases, by President Miller himself_."  
  
Jared sits down, gaping. "And now the motherfucker is making up stuff about me?!" he exclaims.   
  
"How could he think-"  
  
"He's not."  
  
Jared turns abruptly towards Gabe and Jensen, both looking uneasy. It doesn't take long for Jared to get it. "You mean I-I did all that?" he asks in a whisper.  
  
"No, of course you didn't," Jensen answers, stepping closer, "but Clay did."  
  
Jared narrows his eyes. "Then Jared is going to fix it," he states..  
  
"This is a mistake," Gabe protests, "we shouldn't be doing this right now."  
  
Jared stares at him, resolute. "I'm not going into hiding, Gabe" he replies, and Jensen's palm rubbing his knee it's all that keeps him from freaking out.  
  
"Dude, listen. We may be able to hold off on this First Liberty thing for a little while, but you would have to wait for a few months before you start pushing with this projects about new jobs and everything," Gabe suggests.  
  
Jared shakes his head. "I don't want to wait. The country can't wait."  
  
Gabe sighs. "I understand how you feel, but-we're talking about obstructing federal regulators, violating election laws...maybe even _impeachment_."  
  
Gabe looks distressed, and Jensen has his worried frown going, so Jared swallows, trying to keep smiling at them.   
  
"This is a red light," he murmurs. "There are a lot of people around, so it's not safe, but the country is in my car and all that's between us and the hospital is this red light. I have to do it."  
  
Gabe's eyes go wide as he recognizes the metaphor, while Jensen grabs his arm and doesn't let go, because even if he probably doesn't understand what Jared's talking about, he knows Jared will need him, now more than ever.  
  
And if Jared hadn't been already head over heels about the guy, this would have been the moment he would have fallen undeniably and irrevocably in love with him.

 

  
"What is with President Miller lately, uh? I mean, I know the president's supposed to serve four years, but now it may be 15 to 20." Jared grimaces and turns the TV off.  
  
It's not like he didn't expect to be made fun of, it just...it hurts. Someone clears his throat behind him, and Jared turns.  
  
There's Richard standing there. "Mr President, may I come in?"  
  
Jared offers him a tired smile. "Sure thing."   
  
He moves a little to make space for him on the couch, and Richard sits next to him.  
"A dirty business we're in, sometimes," the Vice-President says, and Jared nods.  
  
Richard looks at him, for a moment, before he starts talking. "I just wanted you to know that, whatever happens, I think your jobs program is a wonderful idea."  
  
"Thanks," Jared answers, surprised. "Your approval means a lot to me. Not that many people will pay attention to my ideas now, but...thanks."  
  
Richard smiles.  
  
"Do you ever think back to how you got started?" Jared suddenly asks  
.  
Richard snorts. "Well, sure. I mean, sometimes. I was a shoe salesman. Not very happy about it, though."  
  
Jared blinks, and Richard chuckles. "Yeah, I know, it's ridiculous, right?"  
  
Jared shakes his head. "Not at all. Go on, please."  
Richard shrugs. "There isn't much more. One day, my wife told me that maybe I should try running for office, since I talked about it all the time, so I told my boss I had a dentist appointment and went down to the Registrar of Voters on my lunch break. Next thing I know, I'm a councilman."  
  
Jared gapes at him. "Wow."  
  
Richard nods. "My wife was my campaign manager. We had a budget of 2000 dollars, with advertising."  
  
That's when Jared knows that this man, right here, it's going to be a hell of a president, when the time will come, and the future doesn't look so grim anymore.  
  
"How about you?" Richard asks. “How did _you_ get started?"  
  
Jared grins. "Kind of the same way."

 

  
There isn't a single cloud in the sky, that night; just a light breeze blowing through the pines. Jared and Jensen stay there, looking at the stars, without talking, for a while.  
  
In the end it's Jared who feels the urge to say something. "The Vice-President is a good man, isn't he?"  
  
Jensen's gaze focuses instantly on him, and Jared can see his expression shift when he gets the implications. "Yes," Jensen answers, softly, "he's a very good man. But then again, so are you."  
  
Jared swallows and nods, as Jensen grabs his hands. "I don't want to lose you," he whispers.  
  
There's such a deep sadness in his eyes that Jared wants to call the whole thing off and just run away with Jensen to some place where no one knows them. He knows he won't do it, though, because, just as Jensen said, he's a _good man_.  
  
Which sucks, big time.  
  
Jensen pulls him closer, and Jared goes with it, enjoying the warmth and the closeness for the last time.  
  
There are so many things they could say, there are so many things they could do...but no matter how they word it or how they approach it, it would still feel like goodbye.  
  
And apparently, none of them is that good at it.

 

  
Jared is pacing nervously, surveyed by Charles' concerned gaze, when Gabe enters. "It's time to go," he says. "better get you inside."  
  
"It's all set with Charles?" Jared asks, arching an eyebrow pointedly, and Gabe bites his lower lip.  
  
"For you, yes. For us, no."  
  
Jared squeezes Gabe's shoulder. "It's gonna be ok, you'll see. You can make it through, both of you. Just trust him."  
  
Gabe's hand trembles on the briefcase he's handing to Jared, so Jared squeezes harder. "Relax, Gabe. Enjoy the moment."  
  
Gabe gives him a brief nod, then he steps inside the hall to finalize the last details. Jared glares at Charles, who stubbornly looks elsewhere.

 

  
The TV in Jeff's living room is on, and there's a reporter briefing the public on what is happening.  
  
" _The President Clay Miller has requested a rare, joint session of Congress so he can personally answer the allegations raised by Jeffrey Dean Morgan, his former Chief of Staff. It's hard to recall the last time both houses of Congress convened without so much as an idea of what the president plans to say._ "  
  
Friends and supporters keep coming, and Jeff shakes their hands with a satisfied smirk on his face. It's a big day for him, today.  
  
A friend of his has even prepared a draft of his advertising campaign for when he's going to run for President, but Jeff asked him to put it away.  
  
"Let's wait until the speech, first," he has said.

 

  
"Mr Speaker, the President of the United States."  
  
Everyone stands up, clapping, and some of the congressmen even lean in to shake Jared's hand. Next to the speaker, there's Richard.  
  
He's clapping too.  
  
The room quiets down and everyone gets seated, waiting for the president to start talking. Jared thinks about Jensen, sitting alone in his room, watching the speech.  
  
"Mr. Speaker, Vice-President, members of the Congress, fellow Americans," he starts, "I wish I could be here today under different circumstances; there are a lot of things about this country we should be discussing, but I realize that's not possible now."  
  
He takes a deep breath. "As all of you know, my former Chief of Staff has implicated me in a scandal involving the First Liberty Savings and Loan, and once people start discussing a scandal, it's hard to talk about anything else. So, fine: let's talk about it. Jeffrey Dean Morgan has accused me of..."  
  
Jared trails off, taking a paper from his pocket. He's going to read the accusations, in order to make sure he gets it right.  
  
And there it is, the whole shameful list. Illegally influencing government regulators on behalf of major campaign contributors, interfering with an ongoing Justice Department investigation, violating federal election laws in the area of campaign finance.  
  
Jared lifts his chin up, defiantly, once he's read it all. "Let's get right to the guts of it. Each one of these charges is absolutely true."

  


  
At Jeff's house, all of his friends and supporters clap and cheer, while Jeff's smirk gets wider. "Die, you pond scum," he hisses.  
  
Jared looks chagrined and uncomfortable, and Jeff takes as much pleasure in his revenge as he can.  
  
This useless twit has tried to ruin his life; he has thrown away five years of hard work and for what? For chasing Jensen Ackles' perfect ass?  
  
 _Please_.  
  
He will enjoy watching him crash and burn.

 

  
"I'm the President and, as they say, the buck stops here," Jared states, resolute, as the noise slowly recedes. "I take full responsibility for every single one of my illegal actions, but that's not the whole story and I think each one of you is entitled to the whole truth."  
  
He takes a couple of steps towards the desk he has left his briefcase on and gets a few pages out.  
  
"I have written proof right here in the form of notes, memoranda and personal directives, proving that Jeffrey Dean Morgan was also involved in each one of these incidents and, in most cases, he planned them himself."

  


  
Silence falls on Jeff's living room, and accusing glares are thrown at him from all around.  
  
Jeff swallows, hard, then his gaze stops on someone standing tall next to the security guard. "Gabe," he growls.  
  
He's going to kill him.  
  
He's going to kill them all.

 

  
Jared gives all the files to the speaker, so that they can get examined later on, and then get back to the podium.  
  
"Allegation of wrongdoing have also been made against Vice-President Speight," he goes on, narrowing his eyes. "As this evidence will prove, at no time and in no way was the Vice-President involved in any of this affair. Jeff just made all that up."  
  
Jared turns towards Richard and offers him a small smile. "Vice-President Speight is a good and decent public servant, and I'd like to apologize for any pain this might have caused him or his family."  
  
Richard's eyes go wide, as he listens. He never expected for things to turn into this, when he heard about the joined session. He expects even less what the President does afterwards.   
  
The man steps down from the podium, crosses the distance between him and the chair Richard is sitting in and offers him his hand.  
  
Richard doesn't even have to think about it: he stands up and shakes it firmly, returning the President's smile.

 

  
The roaring applause in the room echoes in Jeff's completely empty house.  
  
He's the only one left, still sitting on his armchair, his jaw clenched and the _Jeff Morgan for President_ sign in one hand, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen.  
  
"While we're on the subject," Jared is saying "I'd like to apologize to the American people, too. I forgot that I was hired to do a job for them, and it was just a temp job at that. I forgot that I had 250 million people who were paying me to make their lives a little bit better, and I didn't live up to my part of the bargain."  
  
Jeff narrows his eyes, and he would like to smash the television in order not to have to listen to Jared's speech, because the kid is _right_. He's completely, totally, utterly fucking right, and Jeff can't admit it, but he knows it.  
  
And that, right there, it's when he's defeated.

 

  
"There are certain things people should expect from their president. He has to care more about America than he does about himself."  
  
Jensen is clenching his hands tightly in his lap, his eyes filled with sadness and concern. He knows what it's about to happen, but it doesn't make it any easier to watch.  
  
Jared's eyes get unfocused for a moment, then he blinks, confused. "He has to care about more about...Care...more about what's right than about what's popular. He ought to be willing to give up this whole thing for something he believes in, because if he's not-"  
  
Jared stops abruptly, taking a step back, unsteady on his leg.  
  
"If he's not-" he tries again, but then his jaw clenches in unexpected pain.  
  
His face goes pale, and Jensen sees Charles stepping closer, alarmed, but Jensen lifts a trembling hand to stop him. He wants to finish his speech, it's too important.  
  
"If he's not, maybe he doesn't belong here in the first-"  
  
He just can't. His eyes roll in the back of his head and he falls on the floor, without making a sound. The whole council stands up as a single man, and they all run towards the podium, panicking.  
  
Then, in the general chaos, Charles' roaring voice can be heard above the noise. "Get a doctor! Move it!"  
  
Jensen's gaze shifts away from the screen, and he busies himself with getting ready to leave. He can't watch him die.  
  
Not again.

  


  
When the ambulance gets to the hospital, Charles steps down with a pale, weak-looking President, who's rapidly taken away with an oxygen mask pressed on his face.  
  
He doesn't follow him inside, though. Not this time.  
  
It doesn't matter if that's the man he's vowed to protect and for the first time in months he might actually need Charles to be there for him.  
  
Things are different, now, and Charles is not just a man with a badge anymore; he knows about loyalty, admiration, respect.  
  
He gets closer to the ambulance again, after checking a couple of times that no one is paying any attention to him: it would be quite stupid for them to be discovered now, after they successfully switched the President in the gurney and finally put things back in their natural order.  
  
He opens the driver's door and jumps inside: in the passenger's seat, wearing a paramedic’s uniform and a baseball cap, there's Jared. The two men stare at each other for a long moment, then Jared smiles.  
  
"Well?"  
  
Charles looks like he wants to say something, but in the end he simply shrugs. "Are you okay getting home?” he asks, and Jared nods.  
  
"Yeah, it's not far." "Jared..." Charles starts, but Jared interrupts him.  
"He's a good man, you know? Gabe." He says.  
  
"Don't hold his mistakes against him. He made the right choice when it mattered the most. Give him a chance." Charles blinks, then hides his embarrassment in a fake cough.  
  
"Maybe I will," he mutters, and Jared snorts.  
  
"Well then," he concludes, offering his hand to Charles.  
  
"Take care, man."  
  
Charles shakes Jared's hand, but instead of letting it go he squeezes it. "I would have taken a bullet for you," he states.  
  
Jared blinks, as the implications dawn on him. He can feel tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, and knows he has to leave before he makes a fool of himself.  
  
"Thanks, Charles," he mutters, slapping the man's shoulder and climbing out of the ambulance.  
  
The yard is full of reporters and cameras, but none of them notices Jared as he slowly walks away from the scene.

 

  
The limo from the White House enters the hospital's gates, escorted by police and secret service. Jensen gets out of the car, pale and desperate, and he doesn't even have to fake it.  
  
Jared is gone, and he probably will never see him again. His heart is broken, and when Charles approaches to accompany him to the President's room, Jensen is shaking like a leaf.  
  
Charles squeezes his shoulder, and then nods towards something behind them. Jensen turns, and he can see a silhouette leaving silently, just as he has come into Jensen's life.  
  
He has overthrown everything, he has changed all that Jensen knew, but he gave Jensen so much more than he has bargained for.  
  
"You made a nice President, Jared Padalecki," Jensen murmurs, before lowering his head and following Charles inside the building.

 

 

_TBC..._


	4. EPILOGUE - A New Presidential Term

 

 

As far as both America and the rest of the world are concerned, the stroke hit President Miller a second time at 8:42 pm, just as he was concluding his remarks to the joint session of Congress. The spokesmen at the hospital confirm it was a massive edema, and they are in fact amazed at how long the President has been able to keep going with something like that extending in his brain; be as it may, they declare the President fully incapacitated.

Clay only hangs in there for a couple of weeks before burning out, as if he wanted to give Jared the chance of sorting his mess before leaving.  
At least by the end of his life he did the right thing.

The nation mourns as President Clay Tristan Miller is laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery: he has been quite controversial, but he has also done a lot for many, and he won't be quickly forgotten.

Especially if Vice-President Richard Speight Jr. has any saying in the matter. "I plan to continue Clay Miller's call to arms; I can't think of a better way to ensure his legacy than to keep following the principles he initiated," he states during the bittersweet ceremony in the capital that swears him in as the 45th president of the United States. "This isn't my presidency: it's his presidency. If he hadn't driven the country through a few red lights, we wouldn't probably be just in time to save it."

Jeff Morgan and eight other members of the Miller administration are indicted on 34 counts of election law violation and obstruction of justice; ironically, the indictments came just 48 hours after the final passage of the Miller Jobs Plan, a comprehensive employment program.

And here we are, a few months later, back outside of Padalecki's Temp, now all decorated in red, white and blue.

 

  
"Just a flyer in the envelope, people, no buttons!" Chad exclaims, frustrated, looking over the table of volunteers like an hawk. "We have a limited amount of buttons, I told you already, so _no buttons in the freaking envelopes!_ "  
  
Sandy is gazing at him with a tender smile. Jared told her about what the man did, and she started seeing him under a different light.  
  
Besides, when he's that huffy he looks kind of adorable.  
  
The phone keeps ringing, but there are too many things to do so no one has actually the time to answer it. Right then, the door opens and Jared enters the office.  
  
"Oh, Jay!" Sandy whines when she sees him shiver. "You must be freezing! Come, I'll make you some hot chocolate."  
  
"Jared Padalecki, time for a change," Sam finally answers the phone, cheerfully, as Alona and Katie get ready to leave the office with a big roll of posters under their arms.  
  
"Stop right there, girls!" Chad shrieks, grabbing Alona's wrist.  
  
"Remember, we only have a limited amount of posters," he points out, and Katie rolls her eyes as if she has heard it a few times already, which she probably has, before opening the door and walking out, followed by a snickering Alona. "Just put them in really busy places!" Chad shouts after them.  
  
Jared smiles affectionately, before getting inside his office and reaching for the phone amongst the _Vote Jared Padalecki_ flyers that are covering his desk.  
  
"Hello?" he answers.  
  
"Yeah-no, she's terrific. She can do _anything_." An annoyed voice comes from the handset, and Jared sighs.  
  
"Well, she's _changed_. Please, Ash, it's the middle of the winter! They'll turn off her heat if she doesn't find a job." The beaming grin on Jared's face tells everyone else in the office he has won.  
  
"You're a good man, Ash. Really. Oh, did you hear? I'm running for City Council."  
Jared chuckles. "Well, yeah, I know. But you know Chad: when he gets something on his mind...and this time he even teamed up with _Sandy_! Can you imagine that?"  
  
As Jared ends his call, the small bell on the door rings when a guy enters the office, his head hanging low. He's wearing a military jacket, and the brim of his baseball cap is tilted down, obscuring most of his face.  
  
His cheeks are flushed, either because of the cold outside or because he's naturally shy. Sandy seems him fidget, throwing glances back and forth as if he's not sure what's going on or why he's there in the first place, and she is next to him in a moment, blinding smile firmly in place.  
  
"Hi! I'm Sandy, one of Jared's campaign managers. Would you like to volunteer?" The guy turns a confused, green gaze on her and blinks, then he shrugs. "Yeah, sure, why not."  
  
Sandy points at a low table. "We have flyers here..."  
  
"No _buttons_ in the _envelopes_ , I said!" Chad roars, and the guy jumps.  
Sandy snorts.  
  
"And yeah, I guess you got that flyers are all you're supposed to send out."  
  
The guy chuckles, but before he can answer Jared's door slams open. "Okay, we're on a roll now: Sera, you got a job!"  
  
Sera stands up, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thanks," she sobs, and Jared squeezes her shoulder.  
  
"Hey, no crying. It's Monday, and everybody works on-" He stops abruptly before he can actually finish the sentence, because the guy has snapped his head up when he has heard Jared's voice and the baseball cap has fallen.  
  
There are dark smudges under his eyes, making them seem even bigger, and the blond hair is longer and a little unruly, but...there's no mistaking it.  
  
"...Jensen?" Jared calls out, in a whisper, and somehow his voice carries over the noise because everyone goes silent at the same moment. Sandy looks from one to the other, turning eventually towards Chad, whose eyes have gone wide in recognition.  
  
Jared covers the distance between them in a couple of long strides, but once he's in front of Jensen he doesn't really know what to say.  
  
Because Jensen is _there_. For _him_.  
  
"Hi," he croaks out, clearing his throat afterwards, nervously.  
  
Jensen lowers his head. "I-I've heard that you find people jobs, here," he mutters.  
Jared scratches the back of his neck.  
  
"Well, yeah, I-" then he can't pretend anymore. "You look great, Jensen," he states, voice breaking with barely hidden emotion, and his embarrassment is worth it when he sees Jensen's eyes sparkle. "I saw you on TV at the-funeral," he adds, and Jensen nods.  
  
"That's finally over," he murmurs. Jared moves closer, his hand already sneaking forward to grab Jensen's, when he feels observed. He slowly turns his head and, sure enough, the whole office is staring at them, especially Sandy and Chad, who have this sickening sly grin on their faces.  
  
"Why don't we go-er, I mean..." Jared stutters, nodding towards his office (the only room with _a door_ ), and Jensen instantly follows. Jared closes the door behind them, and takes a deep breath before turning to face Jensen again.  
  
"Jensen, I..."  
  
And Jensen, for the first time, smiles. A real, deep, heartfelt smile that makes his green eyes glow and Jared's heart soar.  
  
"I know, Jay," he replies, softly. "Me too."  
  
They stare at each other for a split second, then they fall in each other's arms.  
  
When they will tell this story in the future, they will never be able to agree on who was the first one to lean in, but since they recall it as the best kiss of their lives, it will never really matter.

  


  
**A NEW PRESIDENTIAL TERM**

  
BONUS POSTERS:

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Not Coming Down From:**  [bed](http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Bed)  
>  **Clawed Chained Heart:** chipper  
>  **Under The Spell Of:**  Lady Gaga "Poker Face"


End file.
